


Help

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Camping, Desire, Divorce, F/M, Family, Humour, Longing, Multi, Secrets, Sexual References, Strong Language, feeling different and like you don't fit in, kite flying, mentions of lung cancer but it doesn't come into it too much, messy relationships, worrying about the future and trying to do what's right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 47,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8056483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: Sometimes people just need a little help.





	1. Diogenes Club

**February 1999**

 

You knock on the door of the Stranger’s Room in the Diogenes Club one cold Thursday evening as you wear black shoes, trousers, jacket and a white shirt. You might be a twenty-four-year-old woman, but you’ve found that being the personal secretary of Mr. Mycroft Holmes has ensured you access to places that you wouldn't usually be allowed to go. Tonight, and not for the first time during the three-year period that you’ve had this job for, it’s the Stranger’s Room. 

 

“Enter,” comes a curt voice, and you push open the door, before you dart inside. 

 

Your gaze immediately goes to the vast oak desk that’s off to the right in the old-fashioned furnished room because that’s where you expect your employer to be, but to your surprise both the chair behind the desk and the area around it are free. Your gaze shifts to the left and a little fluttery breath that’s full of relief and something else escapes you as you see that Mycroft is sitting on the brown, leather settee by the fireplace. The sound of the crackling fire is merry and as its orange glow emits its light across the red patterned rug that is by Mycroft’s feet it creates a pleasant atmosphere. It is not that, that your eyes stay on and as Mycroft twists his head so that his own eyes can follow you however. Rather it is the fact that one of Mycroft’s arms is draped across the back of the settee, and that he’s wearing a grey suit with brown suede shoes and no tie. The top two buttons of the white shirt that he’s got on are undone and the collar is a little ruffled, raised up towards his cheeks. This is your employer as you’ve only ever seen him on a couple of occasions before. One of these had been on the second of May 1997-the night Tony Blair had been elected as Prime Minister. Mycroft and you had been up late for that one. You’d been at a posh redbrick house in Kensington. The weather had been unusually hot and stifling in the day, but the night had been the opposite and you’d been seated at a small, square wooden table with a red hot water bottle on your lap to help fight out the draughty chill that had come from being in a room with little furniture. Just a few feet away Mycroft had been standing in front of a larger, circular table, his body hunched as his eyes watched the events unfolding on the TV on the wall. He’d huffed out a breath every now and again, no doubt not surprised by the way that things were going, but not looking forward to all the work that a new government would bring nonetheless. You’d watched in the low firelight how his hands had pushed against the many papers and manila folders that had been layed out in front of him. Watched as every now and again he’d rifled through them, muttering under his breath about what a result might mean for so and so politician. Watched as in a rare, momentary break from all that he’d sipped at the amber liquid of his scotch, before he’d finally seemed to realize that your gaze had been upon him and looked across. You’d looked down at the laptop that had been in front of you as soon as he’d done so. You’d only been working for Mycroft for just over a year at that point, but things had already become a little complicated between you. At first he’d been all uptight and buttoned up, but every now and again, as time had gone on and he’d realized that you could be trusted and that you weren’t about to walk out on him or betray state secrets, you’d caught little glimpses of the real person lying beneath. A smile had been exchanged here and there, sometimes he’d even quip or joke and each time it would throw you off guard, but excite you at the same time. You might not have been working for Mycroft all that long, but you’d thought that you’d mainly gotten the measure of the man. Thought that you largely knew what to expect in your encounters with him, and this funny, less mysterious side to him had been unexpected but nice. In fact you’d found yourself longing more and more for such moments even though you never knew what to do when they occurred. Quite often, as your heart would surge with pleasure you’d found yourself looking away. Found your mind telling you off for wanting such things in the first place, for feeling this way. You shouldn't be feeling such things. Mycroft’s your boss and even if he does have this slightly softer side to him it is not so soft that he would ever fall in love with you. In any case it would be unprofessional and make things so much more complicated. Yet late at night you’d found yourself dreaming about him, conjuring a little fantasy in your head, before you slipped off. Whilst on that night where Blair had been elected, what with Mycroft being more undone and natural, not putting a shield up, not disguising who the politicians were that he liked or disliked or who might be useful in what position, you’d found him attractive again. The lateness of the hour and the fact that there was little light in the room, as well as the pleasant warmth that had seeped from the hot water bottle upon your knees hadn’t exactly helped you to keep your general composure either. You’d felt certain that if you’d met Mycroft’s eyes then he’d see straight through you and so you’d kept your head down for a long moment. In the end of course you hadn’t been able to help but look back up again. He’d still been staring at you and you’d offered him a tentative smile to try and cover up the moment, before you’d cleared your throat and shifted your position. Your mind had been screaming at you to look back down, but for a moment you hadn’t been able to. He’d looked at you like he hadn’t quite known what to do with the smile you’d just given him. You’d swallowed and gone back to your work when he’d looked away again. You’d felt his eyes going back to you a moment later though and you’d felt something shift inside you. Had he noticed something just like you’d feared he might? Your throat had gone all dry and you’d had to clear it again. You’d tapped absent-mindedly at the keypad of your laptop, not actually doing anything. Somehow though, as the night had gone on, you’d found yourself leaning back into your seat more. It had been a wooden and uncomfortable one with the hardest of in-built purple cushions. Your eyelids had started to droop and your head had jerked forwards down onto your chest, before you’d managed to blink yourself awake again. You’d been aware that Mycroft had kept looking at you, as if your presence had suddenly become more troubling than the election to him, and you’d worried once more that he might suspect something. Worried that he might sack you for being so stupid as to fall in love with him. Surely someone who gave their heart so freely was not fit to work for him? You’d tried to fight your oncoming slumber, aware that if you succumbed then you’d be even more likely to be sacked, but somehow you’d managed to fall asleep anyway. When you’d woken it had been to find your chin on the table, the laptop closed in front of you with the now empty hot water bottle beside it and that a foreign pink blanket was wrapped around your shoulders. You’d sat up with a groan and plucked stupidly at the blanket for a moment, before you’d remembered that you weren’t at home and that you were in the house that Mycroft had taken over to keep an eye on the election night coverage. The fire, which had once been lit, had now died and daylight had been all around. The table Mycroft had been by the previous night was now cleared and your boss himself was nowhere in sight. You’d looked frantically at your watch. It had been ten past nine. You’d sworn and gathered your things up immediately, before you’d hurriedly departed. You’d thought that you were definitely going to be sacked. You almost hadn’t turned up for work you were so convinced, but to your surprise when you had decided to Mycroft had not said anything about the issue or given you the telling off that you’d expected him to at all. Instead he’d just given you a curious look and a firm nod of acknowledgement when he’d passed you as you took a seat at your usual desk. You’d been embarrassed and wondered why he had been so laid back about the whole thing. Once more you’d started to worry that he knew how you felt and to your horror you’d started acting flustered and stupid around him, blushing every time he gave you a penetrating gaze and stammering like a stupid schoolgirl at the most inappropriate of moments. You’d half-expected him to say something about it, but again he hadn’t and the more worried you got the worse that your behaviour had become. On the second time you’d seen him in such disarray in the Stranger’s Room, in fact just like you’re doing in the present, you’d felt such a sudden attack of stupidity that you’d had to hurry off after you’d given him the file that he’d asked for. Again you’d sensed that he’d given you another curious look. 

 

You fully intend to do the same this time because him looking like that is not helping your heart beat to stay even, and so after swallowing profusely a couple of times you pass the manila folder to him with a, “Mr. your folder.” You blush at your failure to get the words out. “Mr. Holmes, your folder,” you quickly correct yourself. 

 

Mycroft raises his eyebrows at you and you inwardly curse yourself, before he says, “Ah, good.” His long, delicate fingers snatch the folder from you and he gives it a cursory glance for a moment, before he lays it down beside him on the settee. You swallow again and make to turn and hurry out, but before you can Mycroft says, “Why don’t you sit down for a moment my dear?” Your heart skips a beat at him calling you that. He’s never done so before and as you turn your head back to look at him your eyes meet. His seem to glow in the firelight, glinting steadily at you and you blush. Your mouth opens and closes stupidly for one moment, before you gesture at the door. Catching your meaning Mycroft says, “Oh, surely work can wait for one moment?” 

 

Your body and mind seem to have become a stumbling mess of confusion and panic, but somehow, through it all you get the sense that something about this situation isn’t right and something that Mycroft had once said comes back to you. “You once told me that work waits for no man Mr. Holmes,” you say, before your mind immediately asks you what the hell you’re doing and asks why on earth you’re disobeying a direct order. 

 

Mycroft looks suddenly frustrated and your inner turmoil grows. “Yes, but as your boss I am telling you that it can wait this once. I need to discuss something with you,” he says a little sharply, and you swallow, before you make to do as he wants. Mycroft, looking happier now, moves the folder that you’d brought to the coffee table that’s in front of the settee. Some other papers and a glass of scotch rest upon it. You sit down a little away from him, perching on the edge like a frightened bird and deliberately keeping your eyes averted, so that you can try and stay in control of the situation. But Mycroft turns towards you even more and makes your task that much harder. He stares at you consideringly for a moment, his eyes skimming across your uncertain face, before he murmurs, “Now, perhaps you can tell me how I can help you?”

 

“H-Help me Sir?” you ask, hunching forwards more and feeling alarmed. What is he going on about? Is he finally going to talk to you about how stupid you’re being? You hope that if he sacks you then he’ll just get on with it. You don’t want to start acting even sillier because of the anticipation. 

 

“No need to be frightened,” Mycroft says, his hand moving suddenly to rest upon yours. His fingers tighten, his palm curving against your knuckles and you feel a tingling sensation that you’ve never felt so strongly before pass through your body. Your lips part and your eyes widen at the sight of his larger, pale hand completely dominating where yours is resting upon your leg. “I merely ask as a concerned employer who would like to make life easier for his employee if he can.” His hand moves suddenly over yours and down your leg to your knee. Your heart bangs against your chest and you let out a sharp hiss of breath. Mycroft removes his hand from your leg and begins to toy with your hair instead, brushing against a strand that has dropped free from your ponytail and which covers your cheek. Feeling like you can hardly breathe you half-turn your head to look at him. You are like a frightened horse in that moment, cowed but unsure whether to bolt. Undeterred Mycroft tilts your chin up and pecks you quickly on the lips. He licks his own after doing such a thing consideringly, as if he’s trying to work out how you taste. “Mm,” he says, whilst your head spins and you wonder if that had actually just happened. He slips the smart black jacket that you’re wearing off your shoulders. “You see I'm worried,” he says, as he draws the collar of the white shirt that you’re wearing up. 

 

 _“Worried?”_ you ask, trying to push the collar down again and become more presentable, but he just tilts his head and looks at you knowingly as if he’s telling you off, before he resumes the collar to its upright position once more. 

 

“Mm,” he murmurs, turning you towards him more with one hand, before he undoes the buttons of the shirt that you’re wearing down to your cleavage. 

 

“M-Mr. Holmes,” you mutter, wondering what on earth’s going on and trying to cover yourself up with your hands. 

 

He just pulls them away with his own as if they’re an easy obstacle to get around and eyes the top of the white bra you’re wearing for a moment. Your chest heaves as you uncertainly let him and the cool air pricks at your skin, sending a shiver through you, before his attention goes to your hair once more. He brushes at that same strand of it that has come undone and tucks it delicately behind your ear. Then he says with his mouth close by, “You see you’ve been acting differently for a while now. Stumbling over your words, running away when I only wish you to linger for a moment.” Your lips part worriedly. Oh God he’s noticed. He knows. You’re about to be sacked. “Oh, you’re good at the work as you have ever been. That I can’t deny,” Mycroft says, trying to get rid of the wrong conclusion that you’re drawing. He pecks quickly twice at your neck as if to both reassure and reward you and you let out a gasp. Your head spins even more, but through it all you manage to wonder where this is all going if he’s not about to sack you. He strokes at your hair soothingly for a moment, aware that he might have just gone too fast for you. “I’ve been doing a bit of digging, a bit of asking around and its come to my attention that your affliction only seems to affect you when _I_ am in the vicinity. It pains me F/N,” he croons, “I want you to be comfortable here.” He pecks you again, this time on your lips. You rock your body against him without being able to help it. 

 

“I-I'm fine,” you say, trying to cover up the moment and feeling embarrassed by your reaction to what he’s doing to you. 

 

“Mm,” Mycroft says, as if that’s debatable. He turns you towards him more and your hands fall upon his shoulders. He buries his face by the crooked opening of your shirt, breathing you in. You feel as if your every breath gets transferred to him as he inhales the scent of you. Apparently satisfied he lifts his head back up, before he kisses at your neck again. This time he sucks at the skin there. 

 

 _“Ngh,”_ you protest, your fingers tightening upon him. 

 

Mycroft pays no heed to your feeble word and in between leaving marks upon you he says, “You see-Anthea”-he draws his head back and his eyes meet yours-“You know the one who covers for you if you’re sick? Which you barely ever are because you’re such a good little worker F/N.”

 

“Mm,” you get out because that is all you can manage. Everything feels tight inside you like a coiled spring-even more so at his praise-as you try and stay focused on the conversation and not what he’s doing to you. 

 

“She seems to think that you’re acting this way in front of me because I'm overworking you and you don’t want me to know. She seems to think that you need time off, to relax, to come _undone._ Is that true?” he whispers in your ear. You shiver and shake your head. He twists you around until you come to be lying beneath him and he’s straddling your waist. The settee lets out a noise and you let out a squeak that is somehow both a protest and an invitation for him to continue. “No,” Mycroft hums, “I didn't think it was either at first, but now I do.” He very suddenly undoes the remaining buttons on your shirt, before he moves his hands against your sides. Your breath hitches at the feel of him touching your skin there and you scrunch your eyes up determinedly. Is this some kind of test? Your feeble mind tries to figure out. You think that he’d been genuine when he said that he wants you to be comfortable here, but despite what he’d just said you think that he must suspect what the real reason is for your awkwardness and be trying to see how good a worker you really are. Trying to see if you’ll throw away all the professionalism that’s between you just because of your little crush. Trying to see if you’ll make things more awkward for the both of you just so that you can fulfil your desires. Mycroft lets out a little soft breath. “My dear you’re as tense as a taut rope. Why is it that you cannot relax in my company?” You swallow. “I only wish to help you,” Mycroft reminds you in a hurt tone, his hands ghosting across your stomach. 

 

You open your eyes a fraction, knowing that you have to try and tell him how you’re feeling. “If this is some sort of test, if you’re going to sack me, if I-this job,” you choke. For you must keep this job. Its been the best you’ve ever had. 

 

“This is not a test,” Mycroft tells you firmly, before he urges, “Don’t think of me as your boss now. I am a man and you are a woman. We are only talking to each other in that context.”

 

“Then you must know,” you say, your eyes widening desperately. “If what you say is true then you must know what’s wrong with me or you wouldn't be doing all this.”

 

“What do I know?”

 

Your eyes scan his for a moment, before you jerk up and kiss him suddenly, one of your hands clutching at his cheek. “I am in love with you, but I’ve been trying to fight it. It’s wrong. You’re my boss.” With that admission over with you begin to let your head drop back down again, but before it can come to rest upon the arm of the settee Mycroft cups his hands around the back of it and draws you to him. Your eyes flutter shut as his determined ones loom closer and your lips meet in a proper kiss this time, a probing one. When Mycroft’s tongue nudges against your lips however, demanding entry, you stiffen up a little, still feeling some hesitation as to what’s going on here. Mycroft can’t feel the same as you can he? Even if he did then you’ve already established that it would be wrong. You can’t let him or the way that you’re feeling right now detract from that point. “I-It’s wrong, we shouldn't,” you say as Mycroft draws his head back. 

 

“Let me help. I can fix your problem,” he says persistently. 

 

“I”- you begin, before you break off when Mycroft rubs at your sides more firmly.

 

“You are scared of how it might change things?” he asks. You nod. “Then perhaps we can come to some agreement?” he murmurs. You swallow. “You see I’ve been feeling something curious inside me for you for some time now,” he strokes at your skin again, coming close to your stomach this time, before he ducks his head. For a moment every soft breath of his hits your stomach, making it tingle. As if he senses such a thing happening he swoops down against your stomach suddenly and kisses it with an open mouth. You let out a strangled yell and arch forwards. He looks back up at you as you lean back. “But,” he goes on, “Even though I too do not wish for things to change between us, it would be easier that way”-you nod, disappointed, but understanding-“I am reluctant to relinquish the small taste of you that I’ve had tonight.” You swallow and your heart skips a beat. “In actual fact”-the back of his hand comes across your cheek-“I think that I need you to help me just as much as I need to help you.” You feel like you’re barely breathing. “Perhaps we can use the night to try and exercise our desires, so that we can both get over one another?” You gaze at him, both for and against that idea. He brushes at your hair. “I assure you that, that will be what’s best for you,” he brushes at your hair. “I am not a good long-term prospect for you. I can not give you everything that you deserve or desire, but perhaps, as I think it might be, one night will be enough to please you, as I think it might do me, and then make you realize that you must look elsewhere for a romantic companion hmm?” You let out a little breath and his lips come gently against yours at first, before they crush together like two delicate flowers in a scrapbook. “As momentarily painful as it might be we will get over each other together,” Mycroft assures you, and, finally content that this is really the best outcome and wanting to suddenly make the most of the night, your body relaxes. “Good,” Mycroft purrs, caressing at your hair fleetingly, before he makes to kiss you again. 

 

Before he can though you grab at his wrist and say, “We should go somewhere else. Anyone could”-

 

Mycroft lets out a low, seductive chuckle that sends the hairs on the back of your neck prickling up. “The door’s shut. Its been so ever since the very moment you stepped inside.” You tilt your head, looking at him curiously. He brushes at your hair. “There’s a button to the side of this settee, just beneath the arm and above the cushion, although I really shouldn't be telling you that my dear”-he taps at your nose, as if you’d made him do such a thing-“One press of that and the door locks silently at once.”

 

You let out a little incredulous breath. This man and the world that he inhabits constantly surprise you. Suddenly, as you brush at his hair with the back of your hand, you want to find out even more. 

 

Mycroft’s lips come to cover yours again, and this time you don’t protest.


	2. Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A camping trip does not go the way that you'd planned when none other than Mycroft Holmes re-enters your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as ever for all of your support! :)
> 
> I have split this chapter up into six parts to make it easier to read.  
> I hope you enjoy it. :)

**Part One**

 

**May 2008**

 

“Mummy please can we go on holiday this year? Please? Please?” Samantha, your six-year-old and your youngest cries. Her h/c hair is slightly frizzy at the ends as she accosts you at the wooden breakfast table to the right of the room where you’re eating toast that gloomy Friday in your town-house. Her e/c eyes are pleading and she’s wearing her red school jumper, white shirt, stripy blue and red tie, grey skirt, white knee socks and dainty black shoes. 

 

“Only if it’s somewhere cool though,” Oliver, Samantha’s eight-year-old brother says, his blue eyes serious underneath his stripy brown and yellow framed glasses and his auburn hair tidy on the top of his freckled face. He’s also wearing school uniform, though trousers instead of a skirt. He sits just across from you eating toast, whilst his legs swing a little beneath the table. 

 

“That’s something that I’ll have to discuss with Daddy,” you say, aware of the ticking of the clock and turning towards Samantha as she comes to sit beside you with her bowl of _‘Coco Pops’_ cereal. You’d all gotten up late that morning. It wasn't like your husband to sleep in-usually he’d be gone before any of you-but he had due to the alarm clock not going off and because he’d been tired. You’d woken up groggily late to find that he was still beside you. You’d shaken him roughly awake, before you’d hurriedly gotten out of bed yourself. Unlike both of you Samantha and Oliver seem to have benefited from the lie in with both of them seeming more awake than usual. Not that they’re usually exactly quiet at this time. 

 

Samantha’s head whips towards yours. “But you said that you’d do that last night,” she says. 

 

“Well, Daddy got home late last night sweetheart, we didn't get a chance,” you say, brushing at her hair absent-mindedly. She wriggles away from you a little and tuts, scowling down at her cereal. “Besides,” you go on, bracing yourself for their possible reactions, “I know that this is something that you’re both keen on, and I wouldn't mind getting away myself, but Daddy’s really busy with work at the moment”-

 

“Sandra’s going to Disneyland Paris with her family, Mickey’s going to the theme parks in Orlando”-

 

“Bertie’s going to Berlin,” Oliver chimes in. 

 

“Yes, well,” you huff, pushing your toast crumb filled plate away from you, “That’s nice for all of them, but none of their parents have a demanding a job as Daddy’s and if he can’t get time off”-

 

“If who can’t get time off?” your husband Ed comes bursting into the kitchen from the narrow hallway, tugging his grey jacket on over his lanky frame and kissing you on the cheek. His auburn beard swipes against you. 

 

“Thought you’d be down by now,” you tell him reprovingly. 

 

“Needed a quick shower,” your husband shrugs, before he steals a slice of toast from the stack that’s in the middle of the table. 

 

“The children want to go away on holiday,” you inform him.

 

“Daddy can we? Please Daddy,” Samantha begs. 

 

“I’d like to go away,” Oliver says in a more nonchalant tone as he looks off to the side, but you can tell that he wants to go as much as his sister despite his cooler attitude. 

 

“Oh I don’t know guys,” Ed says, waving his hands and sending a splattering of toast crumbs across his shirt. He lets out a frustrated breath. Taking pity on him you stand, swivel around and help brush them off him. You straighten his grey tie in the process and he looks at you gratefully, before his eyes go back worriedly to the children. “There’s a lot going on in work at the moment and I can’t really see that slowing down.” 

 

“We’ll talk about it later,” you squeeze at his hand, not wanting him to worry about it all. 

 

Ed nods, gulping down the rest of his toast. “I’ve got to hurry.”

 

“We've got to get going too,” you say, turning back to Samantha and Oliver. “Come on,” you urge, “Let’s think about today for now. Have you got that letter that I signed for you last night?” you ask Samantha. 

 

“What letter’s this?” Ed asks, from where he’s now bent over towards the floor by one of the black counters on the left, checking to make sure that he’s got everything inside his briefcase. His blue eyes are curious. 

 

“Parental permission to go on a science trip next week”- you begin to say. 

 

“We’re going to the Science Museum Daddy!” Samantha screeches excitedly. 

 

“No,” Oliver kicks out at her, _“You’re_ going to the Science Museum. I'm not. My year’s already been.”

 

You roll your eyes. Oliver’s always been a stickler for accuracy. That’s something that he definitely gets from his father. You swallow. “Oliver don’t kick your sister. Have you got your P.E kit?” 

 

“It’s upstairs,” he shrugs, “I’ll get it when I brush my teeth.”

 

“Well, don’t go forgetting it again,” you warn, because that’s another thing about Oliver, he’s lanky for the most part, but he seems to hate any form of exercise. Oliver offers you another shrug, before he slopes off upstairs. “Honestly,” you shake your head; “I swear he’s eight going on eighteen sometimes with his attitude.” Ed straightens up from his briefcase and gives you a wonky smile. “Come on Samantha,” you urge her to get her cereal down, “Or we’ll be late and I need to try and be in on time today. I’ve got an important meeting with a client at ten and I need to finish preparing for it.”

 

Samantha gulps down the two remaining spoonfuls of her cereal and hurries out. Her red school jumper is already crooked. You shake your head at her too. 

 

Ed comes over, slips his hands around your waist and kisses you. “See you later?” he says. 

 

“Mmmhmm,” you murmur, growing more playful. 

 

You kiss him and he pulls you close, but when your hands begin to snake lower down his back he jerks away. “I’ve got to go.” 

 

“Okay,” you breathe, before you kiss him again just for good luck. 

 

This one’s short lived though for a disgusted voice says, _“Urgh!”_

 

_“What?”_ a more innocent, enquiring one asks a moment later. 

 

“Mum and Dad are kissing again,” Oliver explains to his younger sister, “Don’t look.” He turns and tries to shield her with his body, before he decides that, that’s not good enough and tries to cover her eyes when she attempts to look around. 

 

Ed and you pull away from each other with a bit of a smile, but when Ed quickly checks his watch he exclaims, “Christ, I’ve gotta run!”

 

“Daddy did you just swear?” Samantha asks him incredulously. 

 

“That’s not swearing that’s blasphemy,” Oliver says in his most grown-up voice. 

 

You roll your eyes, before you say, “I’ll be swearing if we don’t get a move on.” Oliver opens his mouth to correct you, but you stare your son down and say, “Oliver, P.E kit.”

 

“I’ll see you later,” Ed says sympathetically, kissing at your cheek, before he does the same to Samantha. He squeezes at Oliver’s shoulder and then he moves down the hallway towards the front door. You hear him leave just a moment later for his bank job in the city. 

 

Oliver runs back upstairs to fetch his P.E kit, whilst you help Samantha wriggle her f/c coat on. 

 

Finally you’re all just about to troop out of the house when Samantha cries, “My letter!” You groan even though it’s just an ordinary, typical morning for you. 

 

*

 

Once you’ve dropped the children off at school you head to the office where you help do PR for a creative industries company that make video games and on-line digital content. 

 

Your meeting goes well, you have just enough time to prepare for it, and by the time that you’re picking the children up that afternoon you feel tired, but happy. 

 

That pleasure soon diminishes though when Oliver and Samantha start harassing you again about going away in the summer. Apparently more of their friends have announced plans of delight and adventure. 

 

“I’ve told you, I’ll discuss it with Daddy later,” you remind them, as at home now you begin to set the table for dinner. “For now though I can’t say anything more than that.” 

 

Samantha huffs and Oliver frowns, but thankfully they seem to let the matter go. That is until you’re all sitting down to eat dinner-without Ed because he still hasn’t arrived home yet-and Oliver asks slyly, “If you could go anywhere on holiday Mum then where would it be?”

 

You look at him suspiciously for a moment, before you decide to reply honestly, “I’d love to go camping somewhere.”

 

_“Camping?”_ Oliver scrunches his nose up, and as he exchanges a glance with his sister you can tell that neither of them had expected you to say that. 

 

“Mm,” you mumble, picking at your pasta with your spoon, “I used to go every summer with my family when I was your age, but I haven’t been for years now. It was really nice”-

 

“What was really nice?” Ed asks as he finally arrives home and enters the kitchen. 

 

_“Daddy!”_ Samantha cries, getting up to hug him. 

 

“Hey sweetheart. Good day?” he asks. 

 

“Samantha your dinner’s getting cold,” you say before your daughter can reply. You then inform your husband, “I’ll get yours out now. Good day?”

 

“So-so,” Ed nods, “The late start didn't exactly help,” he shrugs. But when you begin to get up he shakes his head at you and says, “I’ll do it or yours will go cold.” You smile up at him and properly resume your seat. “So what was nice?” he asks as he goes across to the oven on the left, which has been keeping his plate of dinner warm. 

 

“Mum wants to go camping,” Oliver announces. 

 

Ed stops getting his cutlery out from the drawer and turns his head back to look at you in surprise. 

 

“It’s nothing,” you wave a hand, “We were just talking about where we’d all like to go on holiday that’s all.”

 

Ed’s face falls. “I thought we were going to talk about that as a family?” he asks.

 

“We are, it was just a conversation,” you try to heal his wound. Sometimes, and after a bit of a stressful day, he can get like this. He wants to be involved in everything and quite often his job just doesn’t let him. 

 

“Sounds like you’ve already decided to me,” Ed says, evidently still hurt. 

 

“We haven’t,” you say at the same time that Oliver protests, “I don’t want to go camping.” Ed and you look at him. “Too much dirt.” His nose crinkles. 

 

“I do,” Samantha pipes up, “I think it would be fun. Can we go camping Daddy? _Please?”_

 

“Let Daddy eat his dinner,” you tell her, moving aside a little as Ed comes to sit by you. 

 

*

 

“Do you really want to go camping?” Ed asks as you lie in bed together that night after you’ve made up for his earlier hurt with sex. 

 

The cover is half-off him, revealing his bare chest and you shift even closer to him, draping an arm across his middle as you try and cool down his threatening temper. “It was just a suggestion. Let’s just see if you can get time off first and then go from there.” 

 

Ed just nods and hums. 

 

*

 

To Samantha’s glee in particular, and to your relief, Ed _can_ get time off and in the end it’s decided that you will be going camping for a week in mid-August. You’ll be going up to the north of England to do so and to Ed’s delight he’s managed to find a camp site that has a hotel complex and a pool right next door to it. _‘You know just in case Oliver doesn’t take to the whole outdoors thing,’_ he’d said, having chosen to blame Oliver than admit that he wasn't all that keen on camping either. You’d given him a bit of a look at that and he’d wisely decided not to mention such a thing again. 

 

* 

 

The months pass uneventfully and finally one clear, but cool dry day where white clouds drift lazily across the blue sky you find your dirty and old red car packed with one husband, two children, yourself and camping equipment and pulling into the resort you’ll be staying at. The hotel, a white, square building that looks more like it belongs in Greece than in the North of England is at the top of a hill, in all of its comfort with its plush beds and outdoor swimming pool, whilst the camp site, lake and picnic area are at the bottom of the slope. You turn right away from the hotel and verge onto the slightly bumpy dirt track as directed by the green and white camping sign. You find a good spot to park in the grassy car park. 

 

“We’re here!” Samantha screams, deafening you all and jumping out of the car first.

 

Ed and you exchange a look, as if you’re bracing yourselves, before you follow suit. Oliver remains resolutely in the car. He is most definitely _not_ the outdoors type. 

 

You help Ed unload the car a little, before you open the door of the back seat and peer inside to see your son. Oliver is sat there with folded arms. He hasn’t even taken his seatbelt off yet and he doesn’t look at you. “Come on,” you urge, prodding at his arm. 

 

He wriggles away from you. “I don’t want to go camping”-

 

“Come on Olls”-

 

“Don’t call me that. My name is Oliver. Not ‘Olls’ or ‘Olly,’ but Oliver. It’s the name that you gave me so you could at least stretch to the end.”

 

“Oh Oliver, really, stop being so ridiculous,” you begin, starting to lose your temper. “You wanted to come on holiday didn't you?”

 

“Yes, but not to come _camping,”_ Oliver protests, before he announces, “I wanted to go somewhere of cultural significance.” 

 

“Well, those are very big words for such a small boy to be using”- you begin. 

 

“I'm not small,” Oliver says, whipping his seatbelt off, before he gets up and pushes past you out of the car as he goes on, “I'm taller than all the other boys my age.”

 

“Well, in any case”-

 

“Everything all right?” Ed asks, popping his head around suddenly. Oliver nods moodily and you nod falteringly. “You sure?” Ed asks, peering at you more closely. “You look a little pale.” 

 

You force yourself to let out a bit of a fake laugh and shake your head. Ed, clearly not convinced, wraps his arms around you and kisses you on the cheek. “He just worries me sometimes,” you say, which isn't exactly a lie, but not the whole truth. He squeezes at your shoulders. 

 

“He’s fine,” Ed says, “He’s just being a little grumpy git right now, but he’ll grow out of it.”

 

You force a smile at him and pretend to be satisfied. You don’t tell him that sometimes what with his behaviour, the things that he says and the places that he wants to go Oliver reminds you of someone who isn't either Ed or yourself. 

 

**Part Two**

 

The next couple of hours are taken up with signing in, getting set up at the camp site that’s just a little stroll down from the car park and walking around the hotel complex. You take it in turns to do the latter. Ed and Samantha head up first and then you go up with Oliver. Your mind’s thoughtful all the while and every time you look at your son it’s like a sudden painful reminder of your past. You've had days, moments where you’ve felt such things before, of course you have, but they’re happening all the more frequently as Oliver gets older and that worries you. Sometimes you feel like you’re on a ghost train and getting closer and closer to the bit where the monster jumps out. You’re coming to understand more and more that you’re going to have trouble avoiding it, but you still don’t want it to come. You swallow. You really shouldn't be thinking of such things. You’re supposed to be on holiday with your family. 

 

Oliver stops suddenly and as you bump into him your arm goes around his shoulder. “What is it sweetheart?” He gives you an annoyed look, as if you really shouldn't be calling him such things in public, before his eyes go back to look at the swimming pool that’s shaped like a figure eight outside of the window of the hotel. Even though you’re not staying there you’re allowed to walk inside and use the toilet facilities. You follow your son’s gaze. He’s frowning down at the topless middle-aged men who are splashing about in the pool, their hairy beer bellies sticking out. Children shriek. You think at first that Oliver simply disapproves, but then you see that a chink of desire shines in his eyes. “You want to join them?” you ask him softly. 

 

“No,” he says at once. 

 

“You can you know,” you tell him, “Dad asked if we’re allowed to use the pool because we’re staying at the camp site and we are.”

 

“I don’t want to,” he says stubbornly, pulling away from you. You look at him worriedly. He turns his back on you. He wants to ask why he feels so different sometimes, why he can’t imagine himself having that much fun even if he did get inside the pool, but, “I feel different,” is all that he ends up blurting out in the end. 

 

_“What?”_ you ask, feeling alarmed. 

 

“Nothing,” Oliver says, cursing himself for even having come out with that much because that’s the one thing that he’s sworn to himself that he won’t talk to you about. He knows that it would only upset you. 

 

*

 

“Are you okay?” Ed asks quietly that night when you’re snuggled up to each other in the four-man tent and waiting for sleep to fall. You’d argued earlier because Ed had once more implied that he didn't want to be camping and that you couldn't just expect him to sleep on the ground. You’d told him that you’d never expected such a thing in the first place and that he can either take one of the sleeping bags or lie with you on the tarpaulin canvas with a thin blanket on top of you both. You’d grabbed the sleeping bag when Ed had touched at your arm and said that he was sorry. You’d grudgingly taken up the piece of tarpaulin canvas together and slowly, after a few kisses and caresses you’d softened and forgiven him once more. You’re both sleeping closest to the entrance and the children are further back, only separated from you by a thin piece of green fabric. “You've been thoughtful ever since we got here,” Ed says, apparently trying to make up for earlier and look after you again. He removes his hand from where its been resting behind his head and runs it across his tired eyes for a moment, before he returns to his original position. “Are you just tired?” he yawns. 

 

For a moment you just smile and stroke at the white t-shirt that he’s wearing. “I'm a little tired,” you confess. You lift your head up and listen for a moment, but when you can’t hear any sounds that the children are awake you murmur, “I'm not sure if I heard right, but I'm pretty certain that I heard Oliver saying something about feeling different earlier.”

 

Ed’s head jerks up and he looks at you worriedly. “You think that something’s troubling him?” he asks. 

 

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, “It could have just been him being grumpy about this trip again, _or”-_ you break off. 

 

Ed strokes at your shoulder and kisses at your hair. “I’ll have a word with him tomorrow,” he says. 

 

You nod, feeling better, and it’s not long, before you find yourself slipping off to sleep.

 

Not too far away Oliver’s blue eyes glint in the darkness as he stares up at the ceiling of the tent. 

 

*

 

_“Mummy!”_ Samantha’s voice hisses at you in the middle of the night. 

 

“Huh?” you blink blearily awake. You spend nearly a minute trying to find the light switch on top of the bedside cabinet in the dark and almost grab onto Ed’s nose instead, before you remember that you’re camping.

 

“I need the toilet.”

 

_‘Oh God,’_ is the first thing that comes to your mind, before you force yourself to sit up and say, “Okay, I'm coming sweetheart. Just hang on one moment, whilst I get myself sorted.”

 

Samantha lets out a little gurgle and does a little run on the spot. You remember about the torch that you’ve been keeping close by and grab it, using its soft light to help you pull on a hoodie and a dressing gown over your f/c and white patterned pyjamas, before you slip on some shoes. Ed lets out a little grumble and rolls onto his side. You switch the torch off and make your way out of the tent. Trying not to wake anyone else in the four tents that are set up nearby as you switch the torch on again, you go with Samantha to some trees. 

 

“Can’t we go up to the hotel Mummy?” she asks, clutching at your hand. 

 

“Not at this time of night,” you mumble, before you yawn loudly. If Samantha expects you to go up to the hotel only wearing the mish-mash of clothing that you are then she’s got another thing coming. You also feel too tired to change. She urinates by the closest tree reluctantly and then you assist her back to the tent. You use a wet wipe on her hands and direct her back to where Oliver’s lying fast asleep. “Goodnight sweetheart,” you yawn. You make your way back to Ed and quickly fall dead to the world. 

 

*

 

Things get tricky the following morning when Samantha decides to chant, “I want to go swimming! I want to go swimming!” throughout your fry up breakfast that you’ve cooked on a fire in the middle of the camp site. 

 

“I don’t,” Oliver says quietly, but although Ed and you exchange a glance at his comment all of you make to pack up what you need and go swimming anyway, leaving the tent full of non-valuable items behind you. 

 

Just as you’re moving through the camp site-passing some other early morning risers- and up the path that leads to the car park and beyond you find yourself caught between Ed and Samantha who are up front and Oliver who lags behind. Samantha is talking excitedly all the while, gesturing at her father. 

 

Encouraged by your youngest and wishing that your oldest was more like her you say, “Come on Oliver,” and adjust the strap of your f/c bag as you look over your shoulder at him. 

 

“Mum I don’t want to go swimming,” Oliver says persistently, carrying a black sports bag over his shoulder that contains his swimming trunks, whilst he looks off to the side. 

 

“Well we’re all going swimming”-

 

“Why won’t you just listen to me? I know that I'm not Samantha and I don’t get excited by splashing around in a contaminated pool that’s full of germs, but can’t you just listen to what I want to do for once?” he stops, his head still swung off to the side and his eyes fixed on a far off spot on the ground anxiously. 

 

You stop yourself and half-turn around with a frown. “Oliver what are you going on about? Of course your views are important. But this is everyone’s holiday and we have to take turns. You didn't have any better ideas when Samantha said that she wanted to go swimming so”-

 

Oliver lets out a bitter snort. 

 

“F/N? Oliver? Are you guys coming?” Ed calls. 

 

You look at your husband, before you look back at Oliver again. “Go on without us,” you finally tell Ed.

 

“But”-

 

_“Go,”_ you say, nodding at Samantha who’s tugging on Ed’s hand impatiently. Ed eyes both his son and you with a calculating expression about his face for a moment, before he finally nods. Samantha and he begin to move off. You turn back to Oliver. “What do you want to do then?” you go to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs you off, “I just don’t want to go swimming just like I didn't want to come camping.”

 

You huff out a sigh. You know that he must have some idea of what he’d rather be doing, even if it’s just an inkling, but you honestly don’t know what to do or how to get things out of him sometimes. You look around for inspiration as you try to think of something that he might like to do yourself, which will get him out of all this, make him less moody and make him smile again. Your gaze falls on the small lake that you can see through the trees on the right. A jetty reaches out of one part of it. There’s a picnic area off to the side and a food stand already sells ice creams in the middle of all the tables. “How about some ice cream then if you don’t want to go swimming?” you look back at your son. 

 

Oliver looks at you with wide eyes. “We've only just had breakfast,” he reminds you. 

 

You think about it for a moment, before you shrug, “I won’t tell any one if you don’t.”

 

Finally a faint smile glimmers across Oliver’s face and feeling relieved you lead the way past him and back down the other path that snakes off to the right from the camp site. 

 

The pair of you both get an ice cream and take up one of the picnic tables that’s off to the side of the food stand. 

 

You've been licking at your vanilla one for a while, whilst Oliver’s been tackling his mint, when you look sideways at your son and say, “So the swimming thing”-

 

“People just look at you funny and they’re too loud,” he swings his leg out. It may not be the exact proper reason, but it’s still true. 

 

“Yes, I know you don’t like that,” you look at him sympathetically. He avoids your eyes, staring across the grass instead at where some children are playing with a ball with one another. “I'm sure if you just asked them then they’d let you”-

 

“I don’t want to play with them,” he says levelly. 

 

“Well”-you tilt your head-“Why don’t we do something together this morning then?” 

 

“Like what?” Oliver looks at you. 

 

You think for a moment. “You brought your kite didn't you?” You look around, your eyes catching on the rippling water of the lake. “There should be enough wind to get it up.”

 

Oliver just considers what you’ve said for a moment and then he nods. You smile, feeling like you’ve done something right at last. Perhaps this will be the thing to bring Oliver out of his mood and then the both of you will be able to properly start to enjoy the holiday. Oliver and you finish your ice creams in a more pleasant silence and then you both go and fetch Oliver’s red kite, which is still in the back of the car. You return to the picnic area and set it up together a little away from there. You stand behind your son with your hands on his shoulders, proudly watching as the kite takes flight. 

 

The ball from the children’s game comes close to you and a little girl comes to fetch it, before she hurries away again. 

 

Oliver clears his throat with a bit of a blush upon his face. “You don’t have to stand behind me all the time,” he says, “You can go and sit, over there,” he nods at one of the picnic tables.

 

_“Oh,”_ your hands jerk off his shoulders and you try and disguise how hurt you’re feeling. “Right.” Oliver swallows awkwardly and you pad off to get a cup of tea from the food stand, before you sit down at one of the picnic tables. You sip at your tea and watch Oliver. Watch how he stands in a space all alone when all around him there are so many people walking and enjoying being with one another. You feel sad. 

 

“Can I help?” you hear a soft voice to the side of you say. 

 

Thinking that it must be someone who works in the food van and that they mean do you want them to dispose of your plastic and now empty tea cup you turn your head to tell them that you’re fine and that you’ve got it, but your breath catches in your chest and your heart almost stops when you see, _“Mycroft.”_

 

**Part Three**

 

The man who you’d once had a one-night stand with and who you haven’t seen for nearly ten years stands in front of you with a casual air about him as he twirls his umbrella as if you’d only just spoken to each other the previous day. He wears a grey, pinstripe three-piece suit with a maroon tie and white shirt. A chain of a pocket watch dangles down from his waistcoat, and, considering he’s at a camp site, the black shoes that he’s wearing are only a little scuffed with dirt as if he’s been trying to keep them as clean as possible. 

 

Your throat goes dry and your head feels heavy with a dizziness that you haven’t felt for so long. But it’s fear that fills you now, not desire. You swallow a couple of times. You glance across at Oliver as your mind goes to him automatically. Your son’s still flying his kite. He’ll only be able to see the strange scene that’s suddenly descended upon you if he turns his head. You hope that he doesn’t. 

 

Mycroft sits down just opposite you. “I think he feels a little smothered by you,” he says. 

 

A sudden surge of anger fills you for this man, this _creature_ who has dared re-surface in your life now and give you child tips, as if he’d know anything about it! “What are you doing here?” you say, your hands fisting up on your lap. “What do you want?” 

 

Mycroft looks at you levelly for a moment. “Considering that you worked for me for over three years and we had a reasonably good working relationship in that time I was rather hoping that you could find it within yourself to be more pleased by my presence.” He does not say that being able to stand this close to you again is sending odd little curiosities through his heart, making it almost wait an extra beat before it contracts again because he’s noticing the softness of your skin, which not even the finest CCTV cameras have been able to properly pick up, the exact shade of your e/c eyes, which have alluded him over these last few years even when he’d taken it upon himself to stand across the street from your house or linger secretly close by in the park to where your family and you had been picnicking. He doesn’t tell you just how good it is to see you again. He doesn’t dare tell you either that he’s feeling oddly nervous, more so than he’d ever expected to feel now he is at last in front of you and that his hands are almost growing clammy as he desperately hopes that you might feel the same as he has done over these past few years and that you have been struggling to carry on and conceal how you really feel from the world. Struggling to get that one night in the Diogenes Club out of your head. If you do not feel that though and if you have not been having those problems then he hopes at the very least that a thought of him has crossed your mind, and that it has done so without Oliver provoking it. That the thought of him had just fluttered there and stayed in your mind for a while, lingering, waiting to be pushed aside until now. 

 

“I haven’t seen you for nearly ten years,” you remind him with a bit of a growl, and he knows that this is the motherly side of you coming out because your eyes flicker past him towards Oliver. He finds it oddly attractive. 

 

Still, he manages to acknowledge coolly, “I know,” before his gaze goes to the boy himself as his own auburn hair blows a little in the breeze and something glints in his blue eyes. He takes in the familiarity of him and a fierce churning begins in his stomach, a possessiveness, which he has only ever felt towards Oliver and you before. “He’s mine,” he declares. 

 

You’re on your feet in an instant. “Don’t you dare do this now,” you point at him, “Come back into my life like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do, act like you’d be a much better parent than me and like you’re some kind of fucking Mary Poppins with that umbrella of yours”-

 

“Does he know that you swear like that?” Mycroft asks conversationally, jerking his head at Oliver. 

 

“Don’t you dare,” you point at him again, “Don’t you dare. I have not raised him all these years and struggled just so that you can take him from me now. He is not yours.”

 

“He is,” Mycroft growls, standing up, “And you damn well know it. You've known it from the day that you got pregnant.” You bite your lip at this truth and avert your eyes. “He looks like me,” Mycroft goes on, looking back at the boy, and there’s a hint of pride about his tone. 

 

“He looks like Ed,” you say with your eyes blazing, “And you’d do well to remember who has raised him.”

 

Mycroft fixes his eyes upon you. “You've come a long way from the stammering, blushing woman trying to cover up her feelings for me that’s true, and I admit that you’ve done well to hide it this long,” he says, before he elaborates, “Well to pick someone who looked like me, to encourage a close intimacy from the off so that you could try and make it look like his.” He does not tell you that he’d done everything that he could to try and help you move on from him and be settled in the new path that life had taken you. Does not tell you that he’d pushed Ed in front of you because he was everything that he felt that you needed at the time. Does not tell you the regret that he’d felt every time that he’d seen Ed going out with his arm around you, sneaking a kiss here and there as you carefully pushed Oliver in his pram. Does not tell you the agony or the secret heartache that he’d endured every time he saw that man playing with Oliver, or when he’d realized that you were pregnant again, this time genuinely with Ed’s child. It had taken more than scotch to soothe him that night and he’d cried for the first time in years. 

 

“I did not pick him, I fell in love,” you retort, but Mycroft can tell that, that is not exactly true by the slight widening of your eyes. He’s seen that look before on the rare times that you’d messed up at work, and he feels hope at seeing it again now. “You make me sound like a cold machine, like you, but I did not plan any of this”-

 

A muscle clenches in Mycroft’s jaw. He is not a machine. But he does not say that. He does not say either how he’d arranged Ed’s entry into your life. He does not say how that plan is now all going wrong because he himself was always meant to stay in the background. He was never meant to come out of the shadows. Never supposed to be having the conversation that he is with you now or any conversation for that matter. Never supposed to be seeing you up close again. You were just supposed to carry on living and he was supposed to watch, whilst he felt like he was dying on the inside like a wilting flower. Instead, and because he’s genuinely starting to believe that you still feel something for him and even if you do not then he wants to try and plant the seed of that possibility into your mind, wants to try and persuade you and make you think and agonize as you will no doubt do later, he says, “If that is truly the case, and you ended up falling in love with someone who could easily pass as a family member of mine then perhaps we are supposed to be together after all.”

 

_“Us?”_ you exclaim, flabbergasted. “No,” you shake your head. “No, no, no, no. We are not meant to be together. I don’t know why you’ve felt the sudden need to do all of this now”-

 

“We have a son together,” Mycroft interjects, feeling even more hope fill him at all your protesting. You do feel the same. You _must!_

 

“We've had a son together for nearly nine years,” you remind him, “And yet this is the first time that you’ve decided to make an appearance in his life.” You shift your position as Mycroft continues to stare at you. “What was it? Have you been spying on us? Did you think that you’d just wait a bit and then come to claim him? Like you do with everything? Like you did with me in the Diogenes Club that night?” you say and Mycroft knows that you’re only attacking him because you’re scared. Scared that you’re actually going to have to face all of this now and do the one thing that you’d both hoped that you’d never have to do. 

 

“That was a mutual decision. You cannot push it all on me. You are just as responsible for all this as I am,” Mycroft begins evenly, before you wave a hand at him to get him to stop. For behind him Oliver is glancing this way. You see something in his eyes light up as he no doubt thinks that Mycroft’s Ed for a moment, before they dim again as he realizes that it’s just a stranger with you. Curious though he pulls the kite back down again and starts to come across.

 

“You need to go,” you tell Mycroft anxiously as your eyes go back to him. You do not want Oliver meeting him. 

 

The British Government though just raises an eyebrow at you and takes a step back, but does not make to move any more than that. 

 

You pull a bit of a desperate face at him and even wave a hand, but it’s too late for Oliver’s joined you suddenly. 

 

“Mum,” he acknowledges, casting the stranger a bit of a curious look. 

 

“Hey sweetheart, do you want a drink?” you ask in a false, cheery voice, already fishing out some change from your pocket. He accepts it readily, gazing back at Mycroft and you as he goes. “You need to leave,” you tell Mycroft in a low tone.

 

Mycroft just infuriates you even more when he sits back down. You sit opposite him, glaring at him when his legs brush against yours underneath the table. He just gives you a cool stare in return. He will make you realize how you feel. Make you be honest with everyone, _him._

 

But neither of you talk again until Oliver returns, sipping at his orange squash through a red and white stripy straw and still carrying his kite. “Who’s this?” Oliver asks, nodding at Mycroft as he lays the kite down upon the table and sits beside this stranger with one leg bent beneath him. Mycroft gives the boy a wry smile as he peers down at him. If he could go back and do it all over again he thinks, if he’d known that he was not going to get over you, that you were not going to get over him and that one day you’d both have to face all of this anyway, then he would have done it differently and Oliver would not be asking him who he is because he would already know that he was his father. This would just be a rare family holiday for you all and you would have persuaded both your son and he to go camping despite they’re reluctance because you were you and they would have wanted to make you happy. 

 

“Oh, just someone that I used to know,” you say offhandedly, and Mycroft’s heart pangs with pain at your casualness, before you go on, “I was just saying that it’s strange that we should have met up here again.”

 

Mycroft emits a little chuckle, finding what you’ve just said humorous in spite of everything, but then his humour’s always been rather black. You glare at him. Thankfully Oliver misses your dark gaze because he’s too busy looking at this new enigma. _‘Oh, you’ve been there,’_ you think. You've done all the gazing and wondering at Mycroft Holmes’s mysteriousness. “Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft says curtly, offering his hand to the boy and making the introduction that you’d never wanted him to make. You can’t know that Mycroft’s mind is also on how he’d never expected to get this opportunity and his heart skips a beat. 

 

Oliver, completely unaware of how important this is, shakes Mycroft’s hand politely. “Oliver,” he says. 

 

Mycroft nods. “That’s a good name. After Cromwell?” he stares at you and Oliver’s eyes light up a bit at this reference to history. 

 

“Actually I just liked the name,” you reply evasively, looking down. You don’t tell him that in spite of yourself you had deliberately tried to choose a name that Mycroft would approve of. Don’t tell him how much your heart is aching just at him sitting there opposite you. Aching with all the hurt and pain and loss and all those 'might have beens.' 

 

Mycroft swallows and turns his attention back to Oliver. “That kite of yours seems to fly well,” he says, and you narrow your eyes as you look back up again and your motherly side kicks in, the need to protect your son overriding the need to dwell and reminisce on your own personal trauma. “But you’d have even more success with it if you learnt to feel the wind and the exact change in it.”

 

“Feel the wind?” Oliver asks. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft nods, smiling now, “I can show you if you”-

 

“That’s very kind of you,” you interrupt him because this has been bad enough and you can’t allow for any more. Your son must never find out the truth, and more than that he must never get hurt by Mycroft as you had been. “But my husband and daughter are probably waiting for us up at the hotel. We really must get going.”

 

_“Mum!”_ Oliver protests, as if he can’t believe that you’re saying such things. 

 

“No, come on, we need to go,” you say, standing up, and after a bit of a terse nod at Mycroft you make to move away. 

 

Oliver looks in between Mycroft and you for another moment, before he makes to hurry after you. “Why did you do that? He was going to show me how to fly my kite better.”

 

“Oh Oliver, really, you’ve only just stopped flying your kite and we've left Daddy and Samantha alone enough as it is,” you say, striding on. 

 

Mycroft moves to where you’d been sitting down and looks after the pair of you. He’d known that you’d have the capability of making things difficult, especially if you’d been as scarred by everything as he had, but he’d been secretly hoping that you wouldn't be quite so stubborn and dig your heels in so much. He understands your reasons for doing so, but at the same time he realizes that getting your trust back will be far trickier than he’d even imagined. 

 

* 

 

When you reach the pool after dropping Oliver’s kite off again it’s to find that Ed in blue trunks is hauling Samantha in her pink bathing costume in and out of it behind an excited child whose got a yellow rubber ring around their middle. Your daughter screams delightedly as she goes up into the air once more, before she points urgently and emits little happy gurgles when she spots Oliver and you. Oliver slips onto a free white and yellow stripy deckchair that’s nearby with his arms folded, trying to ignore all the hustle and bustle and the shouts and screams of everyone the best he can, but they cut across the formation of each thought he has like a paper cut on a finger. 

 

“Not coming in?” Ed asks once Samantha and he have reached you and begun to climb out of the pool. They splash water about everywhere and in the next moment you receive a very wet kiss on the cheek from your husband and a hug from your daughter. 

 

You shake your head. “Has everything been all right with you?” you ask. 

 

“Mummy! Mummy! Guess what?” Samantha asks, flapping her hands about excitedly. “There was this man and-and I was singing in the pool and he came over and he said that I should enter the talent show! And now I have and I need to rehearse like all the time!” 

 

“That’s great sweetheart,” you say encouragingly, “When’s the big day?”

 

“Friday.”

 

Oliver groans. 

 

Ed looks across at him with a bit of a frown. “Still not enjoying himself?”

 

“No,” you murmur, feeling disappointed with how things have turned out and you feel a sudden flash of anger directed towards Mycroft. Disregarding the fact that Oliver hadn’t wanted you by him everything had been going pretty well until he’d shown up. You’d got Oliver doing something that he liked at least until Mycroft had come along and distracted him. You watch as Ed proceeds to go over to Oliver. 

 

“Hey Champ,” he says, sitting down on the deckchair and patting at Oliver’s leg. Your heart softens at how he’s trying. “What’s up?” Ed asks. Oliver shrugs and shuffles away from him. Ed lets go of him as his frown deepens. “You could always enter the talent show if you wanted. I know you’re not one to be into singing, but there’s plenty of other”-

 

“I don’t want to enter the stupid talent show,” Oliver huffs irritably, “I just wanted to fly my kite, but Mum wouldn't even let me do that”-

 

“Now Oliver that’s not fair,” you say, defending yourself as you take a step forwards, “You had plenty of time to fly your kite”-

 

“Not with that man”-

 

_“Man?”_ Ed looks sharply at you. 

 

You swallow and wince trying to get Mycroft’s face hurriedly out of your mind as you say, “Erm yeah, it was just some guy who was down by the picnic area showing all the kids how to fly their kites better.”

 

Oliver looks at you strangely. “No it”-

 

“Oliver that’s the end of it,” you cut him off firmly. “We’re here now,” you huff. 

 

Ed’s brow creases and he comes back over to you. “Is everything all right?” he asks, touching at your arm. 

 

“Yes,” you say automatically, before you swallow and shake your head. “You know what? I’ve got a headache, probably from looking after His Royal Highness over there”-you nod at Oliver and your son’s eyes narrow-“I think I'm just going to head back to the tent for a bit and lie down. Will you be all right with the kids?”

 

Ed turns his head away towards Samantha. “What do you think kids? Will we be all right?”

 

_“Yes!”_ Samantha stretches her hands out into the air. 

 

Oliver just looks off to the side moodily. 

 

“Well,” Ed looks back at you sheepishly, “One out of two isn't bad.” You smile at him. “You’ll take care of yourself?” he checks. You nod. He places the back of his hand against your forehead. “You do feel a bit warm. You’re looking a bit peaky.”

 

“I’ll be fine. I just need some quiet time,” you tell him dismissively, before you force a smile at everyone, wave and head off. 

 

By the time you get back to the tent though you’re feeling sick. You bend down just to unzip the flap and you end up retching. A woman looks at you harshly as she passes with her two children who move away from you hurriedly, skittering away like nervous dogs from a rustling bag. No doubt the woman thinks you’re still hung over from the night before or you’ve been drinking really early. “Oh God,” you pant, just breathing in the cool air for a moment, before you force yourself inside the tent. 

 

Mycroft, who’d been watching you from behind a nearby tree, lingers there for a moment, before he moves off again. 

 

You lie down on the piece of tarpaulin canvas that you’d slept on the previous night and gaze at the top of the tent. Your head spins. What’s Mycroft doing here? More importantly what are his intentions towards Oliver? You know that he’d spouted some rubbish about how perhaps you were meant to be together after all, but you know that there’s got to be more to it than that even if he does feel that way. Mycroft is not one to make trips just because of his feelings. He’s usually one to try and keep them down as much as he can. Your heart flips over in spite of yourself. Mycroft can’t seriously believe all that though can he? That after all these years and all that time apart you’re meant to be together? Even if he does you think he’s got a nerve realizing such a thing now when he can see that you’re married and you’ve had a child by another man. A nerve to have sat there so silently after you’d resigned with immediate effect after you’d found out that you were pregnant. A nerve to have let you walk away if already been starting to realize that he was not over you. You swallow. All these mixed emotions are exactly why you’d been happier when it came down to it without Mycroft in your life for all these years. He just confuses you. He’d made you think all these years that by letting you walk away in the way that he had, without a single protest, without having a single conversation about the fact that you were now pregnant, that it had just been a one-night stand to him after all and that he’d managed to get over you just like he’d wanted too. That had hurt; hurt because you’d still felt something towards him. You’d had to turn around, walk out of that office and leave, swallowing back all your tears. You’d gone home and cried for what had felt like days. You’d tried to console yourself. Tell yourself that it’s better this way. That even if Mycroft had, had a conversation with you about everything it would have always ended like this anyway because he doesn’t feel the same and you don’t have the heart to have an abortion. Tell yourself that even if Mycroft had stuck around out of some sense of duty and married you or whatever that it would have been absolute torture to be in such close proximity to him when you would have known that he didn’t feel the same. Tell yourself that he would have made a terrible father. Tears leak out of your eyes and your body shudders up and down. You sniff and try to not let that old pain dominate you once more, try to remind yourself that somehow you’d gotten through it and managed to get to a place where you feel relatively comfortable with. Mainly due to Ed, you think, and as Ed’s face shines in your mind, you think that you are not going to let Mycroft Holmes come in and mess everything up now. No matter how he might feel. 

 

**Part Four**

 

Oliver can’t sleep that night. He can hear his dad snoring, whilst Samantha and you sleep quietly, but he can’t. He just keeps thinking about the kite and everything. He still feels annoyed that you hadn’t let that man help him earlier and he feels confused about why you’d lied to Dad about the matter. He feels annoyed too at Samantha for getting all excited about her talent show. She can’t even sing. That man had probably just been having a joke by telling her to enter. He also feels annoyed with you for not really being with them for much of the day and leaving him with Dad. He’d been worried that Dad might try and have more of an in-depth talk with him about feelings or something as equally repelling. Samantha had been helpful in that respect. As for you, you’d been acting odd, but he doesn’t think that you’d been sick, no matter what Dad had thought. You’d been quiet over dinner and you’d seemed keen to have an early night it’s true, but you hadn’t looked ill. Not to him. He wonders what’s going on. Had your behaviour been something to do with that man earlier? He sits up, puts his glasses on and reaches carefully over Samantha, so that he can push the flap that divides his parents sleeping quarters from his sister’s and his own aside. In the dark he can make out that your head is tucked close to his father’s shoulder. You appear to have a hand draped across his chest as if you’re clutching onto an anchor. He’s seen you both sleeping before and he notices that your face looks oddly pinched and less calm than usual. He swallows, feeling uneasy again and wondering what has ruffled you. Not wanting to try and sleep any more himself he allows the flap to fall back into place and pushes himself into a crouched standing position. He awkwardly wriggles into his jeans and keeps the white t-shirt he’s got on, on, before he carefully steps over his parents bare footed. His heart thrums as he does so and he fears one of you rolling over or waking up. You wouldn't be pleased if you saw what he was about to do. He knows that much. Swallowing again he pads out of the tent. He takes a couple of steps, a steadying breath and looks back at the tent for a moment, before he heads into the dark and towards the lake. It’s colder than he’d expected it to be and he folds his arms across his chest. The breeze swirls around him, blowing at his hair. The sky’s an inky cloudless black. He pads down the length of the wooden jetty and sits at the end of it, rolling his jeans up a little and dipping his feet into the water. The water’s even cooler than the air around him and Oliver shivers for a moment. He soon starts though when he hears the soft padding of footsteps from behind him. He looks around, his heart thumping. 

 

It’s Mycroft who had wanted to help him with the kite earlier and the very man who might be behind whatever’s troubling you. “May I?” Mycroft asks, gesturing at the space beside Oliver. He’s still wearing the same clothes as earlier. Oliver nods. Mycroft slips his shoes and socks off and rolls his trousers up, before he sits down. His feet make a ripple in the water. “It’s a little late to be wandering about on your own. Your mother would be worried if she knew”-Oliver’s face falls-“Still, I understand the desire to,” Mycroft finishes and Oliver’s face lifts. 

 

Looking at Mycroft curiously he asks, “How do you know my mother?”

 

Mycroft chuckles at the boy’s ability to get straight to the point and the sound drifts out right across the lake. Thinking that the older man’s making fun of him Oliver’s fingers tighten around the edge of the wooden jetty and he looks away with a frown. “She used to work for me,” Mycroft explains in a remarkably gentle tone. 

 

_“Really?”_ Oliver asks, looking back at the man and sounding excited, “So you have something to do with the company that she works for then?” Your job has always sounded very cool to him and the chance to meet someone who is not you, but involved in it all the same makes him feel happy. 

 

“Oh no,” Mycroft says, but when Oliver’s face collapses somewhat he goes on, “This was a very long time ago,” in an attempt to reassure the boy. 

 

“How long?” Oliver pushes and Mycroft smiles for a moment. 

 

“Before you were even born,” he says. 

 

Oliver lets out a little breath and looks out across the lake for a moment. It’s hard for him to even imagine such a time. “What do you do?” he asks Mycroft. 

 

“I occupy a minor position in the British Government,” Mycroft tells the boy, though a part of him suddenly wishes that he could tell Oliver the truth. He’s sure that his job and the exact amount of power that he wields would impress him, though he supposes that it could scare him too. Oliver pulls a face, not really understanding. “It’s not very exciting,” Mycroft lies. 

 

_“Oh,”_ Oliver says, looking disappointed, and Mycroft feels a pang. “What did Mum do for you?”

 

_‘She made my days lighter,’_ is what Mycroft immediately thinks, but instead of telling the little boy that or how heavy his heart has been since he says, “She helped me keep everything in order and helped to fix up meetings for me and the like.”

 

Again Oliver looks like he doesn’t quite understand, but as if he could grow to appreciate such a thing, whilst he considers, “What was she like?” 

 

Mycroft looks across the lake himself as he reminisces with a small smile upon his face. “She was just as capable and determined back then as she is now I'm sure, but her great desire to do the job well made her a little shy and uncertain at times,” he looks back at Oliver, not telling him that he’d been the real reason for your nerves even though he desperately wants to. 

 

_“Really?”_ Oliver asks. 

 

Mycroft smiles and looks away again. “Despite how it might appear to you your mother did not land on earth knowing the direction her life was heading in and feeling ready to meet it.”

 

Oliver thinks about that for a moment. “Did you like her?” Mycroft looks at him, both fearing and hoping that this little boy has already worked out what had once passed between him and you. “When she worked for you I mean?”

 

Mycroft squeezes at the jetty for a moment with his fingers. “Yes,” he says, looking back out across the lake. “It would be hard for anyone I think not to like your mother.” 

 

“I don’t sometimes,” Oliver blurts out, before he feels a little guilty. 

 

_“Oh?”_ Mycroft looks at him, his eyebrows quirking up. 

 

“At times she annoys me.” 

 

_“Ah,”_ Mycroft’s face clears with understanding. He looks out across the lake again. “I think in that case you are finding the motherly side of her frustrating rather than actually finding F/N herself to be that way.”

 

“Do you find _your_ mother annoying?” Oliver asks. 

 

Mycroft hesitates for one fraction of a second as he feels a lump in his throat. “Yes, at times,” he manages to get out. 

 

Oliver, not satisfied, looks away. “It’s more than that with me though,” he begins, struggling. Mycroft looks at him. “It’s-and I can’t say this to Mum because I know that it would upset her-but it’s like I don’t belong in the family. That’s how it feels sometimes,” Oliver goes on, missing the way that Mycroft’s eyes widen. “It’s like I don’t really enjoy what anyone else does and no one seems to like doing what I do.”

 

“Which is?” Mycroft pushes tentatively. 

 

Oliver gets a bit of a defensive look about his face as he looks back at him. “Well-going to museums. Finding out about how things work. History. Politics. None of my family are all that interested in them, they just have a glancing interest. My sister got excited because she went on a trip to the Science Museum before, but it was just because it was basically a day away from school, not because she was actually interested in any of it.” He looks away again, his body tense as he braces himself for the mocking that Mycroft’s no doubt about to bestow on him. 

 

“That’s quite a wide range of interests,” Mycroft begins carefully, “But I should tell you that I also enjoy finding out about such things.”

 

_“Really?”_ Oliver looks at him. 

 

“Mmmhmm,” Mycroft smiles with a twinkle in his eye, “And I’d be more than happy to take you out on a trip or two to a museum sometime,” which is an understatement, but at least the truth. 

 

“Do you live in London?” Mycroft nods. Oliver’s face brightens for a moment, before it falls again as he remembers, “Mum probably wouldn't want me to.”

 

“I'm sure that she could be persuaded. After all I know that she’d want what’s best for you,” Mycroft says, again being cautious. 

 

“Maybe,” Oliver acknowledges, before he confesses only a little awkwardly, “But I don’t think she likes you that much”- _‘Ah, the famous Holmes bluntness,’_ Mycroft thinks, _‘This boy is definitely mine’-_ “She wouldn't even tell Dad properly about you.”

 

_“No?”_ Mycroft enquires, finding that information interesting as it’s yet another sign that you’re frantically trying to cover up your feelings. 

 

“No. She wouldn't even admit that she knew you. She just passed you off as some stranger teaching kids how to fly their kites better when I complained. I don’t know why.” 

 

_'I do,'_ Mycroft thinks, but as the breeze picks up and ruffles against their clothing fiercely he chooses to remark instead, “There’s a storm coming.”

 

_“Really?”_ Oliver asks, looking at Mycroft in fascination, “How can you tell?”

 

“Can’t you feel the moisture that’s in the air?” Mycroft asks, holding his palm out, so that it faces upward and looking at his son in surprise. Oliver shakes his head. Mycroft lets out a soft chuckle. “Perhaps that is also something, which I can help you learn about then.” It begins to rain. “For now though I think that you better return to your tent.” Oliver nods and stands up, splashing Mycroft with water a little in the process. The boy grimaces a little apologetically at him, before he turns and takes a couple of steps away. “Oliver?” Mycroft calls and Oliver looks back at him. “You’ll need to wake everyone when you get back. It is imperative that you do so and tell your mother that you’ll need to stay at the hotel for the rest of the night at least. The weather’s too rough for camping.”

 

Oliver looks at him for a moment, before he nods, pulls his socks and shoes back on and disappears off into the night.

 

Mycroft meanwhile feels even more certain that he’d done the right thing in coming here now and knows with even more certainty that he won’t give up on his quest. Not when it’s so clear to him that Oliver needs him, and even though you haven’t admitted it yet he’s pretty sure that you do too. 

 

*

 

When Oliver gets back to the tent he tries to do as Mycroft had wanted and wake you all, but you just grumble and swat at him. _“Mum!”_ he says frustratedly, “You have to get up. It’s too rough to be camping. We need to go to the hotel.”

 

You lift your head up for a moment blearily, whilst Ed mumbles something incoherently next to you. “Oliver it’s just a bit of rain,” you say, before you drop your head back down and fall asleep.

 

*

 

It soon becomes apparent that it’s more than just a bit of rain though, and when you wake to the sound of Ed rousing you, Samantha screeching and the rain and wind battering at the tent you know that you have to move. 

 

Ed starts dressing. You hurriedly follow suit, before you pack up your things. Everything’s damp because of the rain seeping in, but aside from a bag that you each take with you, you leave it all under the little protection that the tent offers as everybody troops out in their raincoats. 

 

“Take the kids up to the hotel,” Ed calls over the gale, looking harried and ushering both children towards you. Oliver’s glasses are already steamed up from the weather and Samantha’s got tears all over her face. She clutches at her damp and favourite teddy bear Boo-Boo. 

 

You shake your head. “You do it,” you yell back, “I’ll get the stuff down quicker,” _‘and be more neat,’_ you think, but you don’t add that last part. 

 

Ed looks at you as if you’re being ridiculous, before he finally nods and tugs the children away by their hands. 

 

You turn back to the tent. Everybody else’s are already gone. Yours is the only one still standing and you’re already soaked through. _‘Nice of them to wake you up,’_ you think, suddenly feeling a little guilty for the way that you’d ignored Oliver earlier. Still, this is the situation that you’ve got now and you try to pull the tent down determinedly. It’s so slick and damp though that it’s hard to get a good grasp on it. You let out a curse that gets drowned out by the storm and your teeth begin to chatter. Just when you’re starting to wish that you’d gone to the hotel with the children after all a figure in a black raincoat with the hood up and dark trousers and shoes appears on the other side of the tent. You see Mycroft’s face through the rain. His blue eyes glint steadily against yours and a soft smile creeps across his face. 

 

“I thought that you’d still be here,” he calls across to you, “F/N L/N, the most stubborn woman in the world, always thinking that she knows what’s best at the expense of her heart”-

 

“I love Ed,” you say mulishly. 

 

“Has it not occurred to you that if you’d just admitted what was still in your heart all those years ago then I would not have been as bad a father as either of us might have previously believed?”

 

“What about admitting what was in your heart?” you say defensively, folding your arms. “If what you said before was actually the truth.”

 

Mycroft ignores both your question and statement and announces, “I did well with Oliver today.”

 

“What are you doing? Marking yourself out of ten just because of one encounter with him? Ed’s done well with him for much of his life”-Mycroft opens his mouth-“Besides I am not judging or rating you right now. We’re getting soaked,” you declare, brushing your sodden fringe out of your face. 

 

“No, I'm not asking you to do anything. In fact I'm helping you again, with the tent this time, so you could at least be grateful”-

 

“The last time you helped me I got pregnant, so I think I’ll pass,” you retort waspishly. 

 

“I'm not exactly pleased with you either,” Mycroft calls back, “I didn't like the way that you just left earlier, but despite it all I’ve come back now,” and with that he pulls his side of the tent down with only a little effort. Scowling you manage to do the same with yours and then together you carry the mess of the tent and everything else back to the car, whilst your head spins. Once everything’s been stowed messily inside-you’ve decided to forgo neat-you just stand facing each other at the back of the car for a moment. The pair of you are drenched. You can see raindrops on Mycroft’s eyelashes and feel them using your own face as a ski-slope. “You need to go up to the hotel,” Mycroft says, holding onto your arms. You nod, but even when he lets go of you after giving your arms a quick squeeze you still find yourself just looking at him for a minute or two, before you dart away. You don’t go far, before you look back over your shoulder again. Mycroft’s still standing there, his hands in his pockets as he looks after you with an odd look in his eyes. A mixture of something that is both sad and thoughtful and you wonder what’s going on in his mind in that moment, before you hurry away. 

 

*

 

Ed’s managed to get two hotel rooms that have an adjoining door in their middle. As soon as you step inside the closest one the first thing you hear is Oliver saying, “I told you, I told you,” in a frustrated know-it-all tone as he comes out of a door on the right towards you. 

 

You’re wet through and bedraggled and you just stop and stand there blinking for a moment. Only taking in the fact that there’s a comfortable looking double bed in the middle to your left with a white duvet and pillows, a bedside cabinet with a lamp and a window with black blinds that are down just beyond it, a wooden wardrobe and chest of drawers level with you on the same side as you come in and an interesting, square colourful abstract painting on the white wall to your right. The door that Oliver had come through is just beyond that, whilst another, which leads you’re presuming to the children’s room, is next to it. 

 

Ed follows after your son with his sleeves rolled up and a harried look upon his face. His arms are damp. “We've been helping Samantha wash Boo-Boo,” he explains to you, “He fell in some mud on the journey.” You nod. You know how upset Samantha would have been to get Boo-Boo dirty and that despite the lateness of the hour it would have become the first priority after getting themselves dry. “Did you manage to get the tent down okay?” he asks. 

 

“Yeah,” you start to tug your f/c coat off, “It’s a bit messy, but it’s all in the car.” You duck your head down. 

 

“Well, it’s hard to be tidy in this weather,” Ed says, no doubt thinking that’s what you’re looking a little odd about. 

 

“Mm,” you mumble, thinking about what Mycroft had said about how he wouldn't have made as bad a father as you’d thought. You wonder not for the first time what things would have been like if Mycroft had helped you raise Oliver, especially if he genuinely hasn’t gotten over you. Wonder if somewhere out there, in a parallel universe of sorts, you’re with Mycroft, he’s your husband and you’re both a good network of support for Oliver. You shake your head and send water flying everywhere. You’re not in that world; you’re in this one with Ed, Oliver and wonderful little Samantha who you would have never had if things had worked out with Mycroft all those years ago. This is the world that you need to focus on and you mustn't let Mycroft’s possible feelings get in the way. 

 

“I told you there was a storm coming,” Oliver starts up again, getting you out of your thought. You send him a look of annoyance, before you turn, slip out of your coat and hang it up. You’ll probably have to dump it in the bath later and try and get the water out of it more, but you can do that once you’ve got the rest of your things off. “That man told me there was, but you wouldn't listen”-

 

Ed and you exchange a quick look of alarm. Mycroft scurries properly out of your mind. You swivel back around properly and ask, “What man?” to Oliver, your wet hair flying about your face as you do so. Oliver’s mouth drops open, before he looks regretful and closes it. “Oliver what man?” you persist in a frightened dangerous tone, taking a step towards him, whilst Ed ushers Oliver to sit down on the bed. They do so together and you move to stand over them. 

 

Ed’s hand goes upon Oliver’s shoulder. _“Oliver?”_ he asks. 

 

Oliver’s eyes nervously go to you, before he looks down at his knees as he mumbles, “I left the tent.” Your mouth drops open. 

 

“For the toilet?” Ed asks, trying to hope. 

 

Oliver’s eyes dart up to you again, before he swallows and shakes his head. “I just wanted to go for a walk”-

 

“Oliver how could you be so reckless?” you despair. You’d thought that you’d taught your son better than that and even if you hadn’t that he had more common sense. 

 

“I went to the lake,” Oliver says, tucking his head down into his chest even more and ignoring you. “I went to sit on the jetty and that man came, that one who wanted to help me with the kite earlier”-your stomach drops and Mycroft appears sheepishly in your mind-“He said that there was a storm coming and that he wanted me to wake you”-

 

Ed stands up and shakes his head in disbelief. He paces back and forth for a moment. “He shouldn't have gone to talk to you. He should have known that he could have frightened you.” He looks at you. “What kind of man approaches a child at that time of night? Scratch that, what time of man is _up_ walking about at that time of night? Weirdo,” he scoffs, turning his head away momentarily, before he looks back at Oliver. “You’ll have to point him out to me tomorrow Ol.”

 

“Oliver,” Oliver corrects. 

 

“Whatever,” your husband says resentfully. 

 

“Anyway,” Oliver carries on, before you can do anything, “Mum can introduce you to him. She knows him.”

 

_“What?”_ Ed asks sharply, looking at you. Your mouth flutters between being open and shut.

 

“Yeah,” Oliver says, growing more confident as he looks up at you and you wish that he’d just shut up, but you don’t seem to be capable of doing anything to help him do so, “Why didn't you tell me that you used to work for him?”

 

You feel like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. Your face pales. 

 

Ed looks between Oliver and you for a moment. “Why don’t you go and check on your sister?” Ed tells Oliver, “Make sure she hasn’t drowned Boo-Boo?” his eyes go to you. They’re dark and questioning. 

 

You swallow, knowing that you’re in trouble. Oliver nods, but then something comes over you and you utter, “No,” before Oliver can do anything more than jump off the bed into a standing position. “Oliver you don’t seem to realize just how serious this is,” you say as the full horrific extent of what your son could have been through that night and what you could all be going through as a family right now hits you. Both your husband and son look at you. “Someone could have kidnapped you! You could have drowned in that lake! You shouldn't have left the tent in the first place.” All of the things that Mycroft could have said to your son pound into you in addition to all those other things and with a shaking inside you go on, “It was dangerous. What the hell were you thinking? Oh, that’s right, you weren’t.”

 

A glimmer of surprise crosses Ed’s eyes at how suddenly harsh you’re being. He knows that Oliver needs to understand that he mustn't ever do that again, but he’s safe, that’s all that matters. Besides, in his opinion it’s that kite man who needs a good telling off. 

 

Oliver opens his mouth indignantly. “If I hadn’t gone then I wouldn't have even known about the storm. If you’d just listened to me then we could have gotten out of there much sooner. Anyway, Mycroft’s really clever, he’s not dangerous, he could tell that a storm was coming just from the feel of the air.”

 

Ed raises his eyebrows in surprise, feeling shocked by how enamoured with the man Oliver sounds. 

 

Whilst your son’s praise of the man who is really his biological father just makes you feel all the more scared. “You’re damn well lucky that it was just Mycroft you came across then.” You huff out a breath and look off to the side for a moment. “I don’t know who the hell you take after sometimes.” A blatant lie. “Walking about at night in a strange place, but mark my words Oliver it’s not going to happen again”-you point at him-“From now on you’re not to go anywhere unescorted. Even if it’s to the toilet Dad will take you”-

 

_“Mum,”_ Oliver whines.

 

Ed too seems to think that you’re going overboard. _“F/N,”_ he says. 

 

“No,” you look at them both, “That’s the end of it.” You direct your next words at Oliver. “Now go to your room and go to bed. I don’t want to hear one more sound from you for the rest of the night.” Oliver scowls at you and makes a rude hand gesture, before he starts to walk away. _“Oliver!”_ you call after him, shocked. 

 

“I'm going to bed”-

 

“You need to come back here right now and apologize to your mother,” Ed growls, pointing a finger towards the floor. 

 

“Sorry,” Oliver whirls around quickly to say irritably, before he turns around again. He disappears through the adjoining door in the next moment. 

 

You huff out a breath and scrape a hand across your face. 

 

“That was a bit harsh wasn't it?” Ed asks. You lower your hand and look at him. “Why didn't you tell me that you knew that man before?”

 

You sit down on the bed for a moment, before you remember about your wet clothes again and stand up. “It’s not a big deal. I didn't even recall who he was at first. Then he told me, but it was only a brief conversation. That’s why I didn't see any point in bringing it up. As far as I was concerned there wasn't anything _to_ bring up. If I’d known that all of this was going to happen and that Oliver was going to make such a fuss about everything then I would have.” 

 

Ed scrutinizes you with his eyes for a moment. “Has he come here with his family too?” he asks. 

 

“Probably,” you say, even though you know that’s an outright lie, “We didn't get to have much of a conversation. Anyway, I'm just at much of a loss as to why he approached Oliver tonight as you are, but I'm sure that it’s nothing to worry about. Perhaps he truly was trying to be helpful with the storm and all.” 

 

Ed studies you. “Perhaps I should talk to him?”

 

_“No,”_ you say a little sharply, before you put a placating hand on your husband’s arm when he raises his eyebrows at you. You shake your head. “Just leave it. There’s no point in you getting yourself worked up about it.”

 

“If he’s said things or done anything to our son though”-

 

“He won’t have done anything,” you try and reassure Ed. 

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I just sense it. Oliver would have said if anything bad had happened. You know what he’s like. He’s the first to complain.” 

 

Ed looks away from you for a moment, before he looks back again. “I just don’t like the idea of you keeping things from me,” he says, and his eyes linger on you for another moment, before he turns his back on you and goes to check on the children. 

 

You look after him worriedly, before you undress and change into your night things. You dump all your wet clothes in the bath and towel your hair dry, but by the time you’ve done that and slip into bed Ed still hasn’t returned. You barely hesitate and your stomach only swirls with a little guilt, before you take your mobile phone off the bedside cabinet and draw it in front of you. No matter how much you’ve tried to push it out you’ve still got Mycroft’s number engrained in your memory from when you used to work for him. Hoping that his number is the same as it had been then you text: _What did you say to Oliver?_

 

**What a pleasure that you’re texting me now and that you remember my number too.**

 

_Shut up Mycroft,_ you send back irritably. 

 

**Now, now. You must really try and control that temper of yours. I believe that you wanted me to answer your question after all.**

 

_Go on then._

 

**I did not make a Darth Vader style announcement if that’s what you’re worried about.**

 

Another irritable breath escapes you. _I figured that you probably hadn’t, but in any case I don’t want you talking to him any more._

 

**I have every right to. In the eyes of the law I’d have the right to even more. To proper access.**

 

_Don’t you dare. You talk about access now when you haven’t wanted any for nearly nine years. What’s changed? And don’t give me any more crap about how we’re soul mates or meant to be or anything. I just want the truth._

 

_“F/N?”_ a voice cuts through your fury and you look up with a start as a jerk of breath escapes you to see that Ed’s standing by the door that leads to Oliver and Samantha’s room. He’s looking at you a little strangely. “Samantha wants a goodnight kiss from you.” You nod. “Are you texting someone?” Ed asks, nodding to your phone as you get out of bed. 

 

“Jane from work. I just got a text from her. She’s hoping that we’re enjoying ourselves,” you lie. 

 

“Bit late isn't it?”

 

“She’s an insomniac,” you say to deceive him, before you brush past him and enter the children’s room, which is lit only by the glow of the bedside lamps. You take your phone with you. Ed looks after you for a moment, feeling like he doesn’t know what’s going on with you at the moment and not liking it, before he leaves you to it. “Hey sweetheart,” you change your voice to a coo when you see that Samantha’s sitting up in the single bed on the right and reaching her hands towards you. You hug her briefly, your phone rubbing against her back, before you crouch by her bed.

 

“Mummy Boo-Boo’s got to spend the night in the bathroom,” she tells you. 

 

“He’s got to dry off,” you say, running your free hand through her hair, before you add, “I'm sorry that he fell.”

 

Samantha’s face crumples a little. “The storm was really scary,” she says in a low voice, her hand going towards her mouth. 

 

You drag it away, so that she can’t suck on her thumb, before you lean up and peck her on the forehead reassuringly. “We’re safe now,” you tell her in a soothing tone, encouraging her to lie down as you slowly straighten up, “You’re all warm and snug in your bed.”

 

Samantha slips down properly, her eyes already closing. She taps a sleepy hand against your hair, before she whispers, “Goodnight Mummy.”

 

“Goodnight sweetheart,” you kiss her again. You step back and watch how she rolls onto her side, perfectly content to fall asleep now with her hand close to her mouth. Your gaze goes to Oliver. He’s watching you with a suspicious look about his face. You notice not for the first time that his eyes look different without his glasses. His face appears naked somehow. You switch the bedside lamp that’s by Samantha off, before you go across to him. “Hey,” you murmur. He shrugs. You crouch in front of him, cupping at his hair. “I do love you, you know? I'm sorry if you felt that I was shouting at you earlier, but it’s only because I want to protect you. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you darling.”

 

Oliver thinks about that for a moment, before he gets out, “I just don’t get why you have to be so mysterious sometimes.”

 

_‘You would if you knew,’_ is what you think, feeling a chink of pain inside yourself. You rub at his hair for another moment, before you reply, “Well, sometimes adult relationships can be a little complicated.” Oliver looks at you doubtfully. You let out a little breath, stroking at his hair. “You’ll understand someday Olls.”

 

“Oliver”-

 

“Oliver,” you acknowledge with a nod.

 

Your phone buzzes. You look quickly down at the new message, hiding it from Oliver with the side of the bed. **The truth is that he’s my son too.** You swallow. You’d been hoping that your demand for the truth would make Mycroft either spill all or back off for tonight. You feel angry that, that’s all he’d sent you and that he’s constantly pushing it on you as if you’re being the bad person here when what you’re really doing is just trying to keep your family together and stop any changes from occurring. It’s for the best that they don’t you know. You can’t know that it had taken Mycroft this long to reply because he’d been honestly considering telling you the whole truth and the entire reason for him coming, but that in the end he just hadn’t been able to send such a thing by text. Can’t know that right now he’s feeling frustrated with himself as much as he is with you. 

 

“Who’s that?”

 

You look up at Oliver with a start. “No one,” you breathe, “Go to sleep now.” Oliver looks even more perturbed by you. “Goodnight darling,” you say, kissing him briefly on the cheek, before you stand up again. 

 

You hear Oliver sighing as you switch the bedside lamp off and make your way to the door. You switch your phone off completely, before you re-join Ed. 

 

**Part Five**

 

The next day’s difficult. You can tell that Ed’s still unhappy about the way that you’d kept Mycroft from him. This tension thrums between you even over breakfast in the cramped dining hall, and because the lake’s flooded both the picnic area and camp site there’s little activities that can be done even though the day’s a dry one. It’s still a blustery one though and the unpleasantness of the wind prevents people from even going to the swimming pool. It feels like the hotel is under lock down, but since the weather forecast looks mixed you’ve made the arrangements to stay there for the rest of the trip. Oliver and Samantha are miserable about being cooped up and although Ed and you make the effort to try and entertain them with a puzzle book and the TV in the hotel room once Samantha’s finished practising for the talent show for the umpteenth time that day the whole day feels like a chore. You feel increasingly claustrophobic as it goes on. The same thoughts keep spinning through your head. You wondering what if Mycroft does feel the same way and then trying to push it away again because it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you try and find out why he’s really here, so that you can get him on his way again. Nothing else. You've got this life now. You don’t need another one. But in the end, that evening, feeling a need to let off some steam because of everything you come out of the bathroom and murmur in Ed’s ear, “I'm just going to the pool for a while,” as he sits down on the bed in your room watching TV with the children. There’s some quiz show on and even Oliver seems fairly occupied with it. 

 

Ed gives you a look as if you’re mad, but, and so that the children’s attentions won’t be drawn and that they won’t beg to go with you because he senses that you need some time alone right now, he nods. 

 

You peck him on the cheek gratefully, before you wander out of the hotel room. You can hear Samantha’s voice piping up just as the door closes. No doubt she’s wondering where you’re going. You head downstairs in the heaving hotel and let out a breath of relief when you finally step through the transparent sliding doors to the outside of the pool. The pool has not escaped last night’s storm either. Some of the water has sloshed over the side, a couple of the deckchairs have been knocked over and an umbrella that had been over a small table by one of them has fallen over and rolls back and forth a little in the breeze. The water in the pool itself seems fresher than ever though and you slip out of your clothes eagerly, revealing the blue swimming costume that you’ve got on underneath and only releasing a little bit of a shiver when the cool air caresses at your skin. You tighten your ponytail with your blue headband and go down the wide steps into the pool. You let out a bit of a gasp when the water sloshes over you. It’s cold. Still, it’s not long before you’re letting out a little delighted laugh at having the entire pool to yourself and swimming across to the other side. Once you get there you let out a little breath of relief and rest your folded arms down against the terracotta tile pool deck for a moment. You tilt your head up and close your eyes, enjoying the feel of the evening sun that casts everything in a pale glow. You only open your eyes again when you hear the sound of the transparent, sliding door of the hotel opening and shutting, some rustling and feel a little rippling of the water. Feeling curious, but thinking that it’s probably just Ed and the children joining you-although the children are being really quiet if that’s the case-you turn around. Your mouth opens a little when you see Mycroft, wearing nothing but light blue swimming trunks, coming down the steps into the pool. His eyes are only half on you because he’s watching where he’s going. You wade towards him a little anxiously. “You can’t be here.” Mycroft just raises an eyebrow at you, before he enters the water properly with forcefulness. The water rushes towards you and you let out a little breath as it slams into your chest. “Mycroft I mean it.”

 

“I'm perfectly serious too when I say that you cannot keep my son from me,” Mycroft murmurs, coming closer towards you. 

 

“I just don’t understand why you’re doing all this now.” You turn your back on him because you know that the closer he gets to you the more tempted that you’re going to be to look at his chest hair and everything else. You've already noticed how dark and inviting it looks against his pale skin, and not wanting to notice how it might look with water glistening all over it or anything else you move to the far end of the pool again. Knowing that you need to have a conversation with him though you swallow and ready yourself, before you look back over your shoulder again. There should be enough distance now between you at least to keep your thoughts from being dangerous. As you do so the damp ponytail that snakes down your back swishes slightly. Mycroft’s got a serious expression upon his face as he continues to wade towards you, but for now, just like you’d both suspected and hoped, he’s at a safe enough distance. “You knew I was pregnant when I resigned. I know you did. Yet you didn't say anything”-your voice catches- _“Anything._ You just let me go away and sink into all the confusion and fear that I felt by suddenly having my life turned upside down. Even if you didn't know how you felt then you haven’t once tried to contact me since. You haven’t sent money. You haven’t _tried_ to help. So why now? I know that there’s got to be more to it no matter how you feel. Answer me this: Why is it suddenly so important for you to be in Oliver’s life all of a sudden and mess up the stability that he has?” 

 

“You really want to know?” Mycroft asks, touching lightly at your back as he joins you. 

 

“Yes,” you look up at him wishing that he’d just take his hand off you. He’s got his head off to the side, but still, just as you’d feared and even after all this time your mind doesn’t fail to notice how beautiful he is half cast in shadow by the sun’s light and you feel terrible. You've tried so hard to get over this man and nothing’s worked.

 

He huffs out a breath, looking down at the edge of the pool. He removes his hand from you and his fingers scrape against the side. “My mother’s dying.” You look up at him sharply, letting out a little breath as your lips part. “She’s got lung cancer and it’s terminal.” He looks at you, his eyes both sad and wistful. “She doesn’t know that I’ve got a son, that she’s a grandmother, but I want her to know both of those things before she goes. She’s living out the rest of her days in a hospice and I’d like Oliver to go and see her, you too. It would mean the world”-your mouth opens a little wider-“To both her and me. There are some things that I can’t make right, but this isn't one of them,” he informs you, gripping onto your upper arms as you turn automatically towards one another. 

 

You look at him feeling thunderstruck, before you turn your head away again. You take a deep breath, before you utter the words, “Mycroft I'm-I'm really, really sorry about your mother and everything, but I just can’t.” You swallow and Mycroft lets you twist away from him. “I just”- you let out a bit of a sigh, before you swing back towards him. Some of the water rocks against your hips. “Telling Oliver would mean that I’d have to tell Ed and I can’t-I just can’t do that,” you try to make him understand as you shake your head and tears flare up inside your eyes. 

 

“I understand that it’s difficult,” Mycroft says, coming closer towards you. 

 

“No you don’t,” you look at him fiercely as all of the hurt from the past comes properly back to you and Mycroft stops, “You don’t have any idea. Whilst you’ve been carrying on with your life for nearly ten years Ed has been doing the really difficult stuff. He was there at Oliver’s birth, he held my hand and I saw the joy fill his face when he thought that he was looking down at his newborn son for the first time. He supported me when I could barely get any peace because Oliver was teething and he dealt with all of his tantrums. He’s mopped up Oliver’s sick. He’s done nappy changing. He’s comforted Oliver when he was upset. When all the other kids called him four-eyes at school. Tried to understand him when he’s been the most difficult of children because he’s inherited all of your bad points, so no, you don’t have any idea of what it would do to him if I told him the truth now. It would devastate him. It would devastate anybody,” you splash at the water angrily. 

 

“I would have done all of those things if you’d just given me the chance to,” Mycroft protests, “If we’d come to realize what our feelings were sooner, if you’d just come and told me”- 

 

“Am I really supposed to believe that?” you turn your back on him and look over your shoulder. “You would have paid for me to have an abortion is more like it.”

 

“No,” Mycroft breaks the gap between you. 

 

You swivel back around. “So would you have really dealt with all of Oliver’s sick and nappies? Dealt with him spitting up on one of your clean three-piece suits right before work?”

 

“Yes.”

 

You let out a disbelieving breath. “But you didn't, and that’s the point,” you tell him. You look away from him. “Ed might not be his father biologically, but he’s damn well done everything that a father should and I am not going to take all that away from him now.”

 

Mycroft swallows. “You can’t blame me for not saying anything, for just letting you leave,” he says as your breath hitches inside your chest. You keep your head on one side as you listen intently. “I knew that my feelings hadn’t changed towards you, that if anything they’d just gotten stronger and all the more desperate, but I wasn't sure if you felt the same. I thought that if you didn't resign then maybe it meant that you did. That maybe it would mean that you wanted us to be a family. When you did resign however I thought that perhaps it meant that you had gotten over me just as you wanted to and that you didn't want me to be a father to the baby. Quite frankly, even though I didn't want to”-your breath lifts in your chest again-“I agreed with you and thought that it was probably for the best. I thought that I’d probably make a terrible father”-

 

“Now just because your mother’s ill”-

 

“No, that was the culmination in me seeking you out again, but now that I'm here I know even more that it was the right thing for me to do. You might be under the illusion that Oliver’s got stability, but he hasn’t”-your eyes flash angrily-“He told me that he doesn’t feel like he fits into the family,” Mycroft goes on more gently, seeing from how tense your shoulders are how difficult what he’s saying has already made you feel. 

 

You swivel around. “He told you that?” You look searchingly into his eyes. 

 

Mycroft nods and breaks the gap between you even more. “He’s a very clever boy F/N, as I'm sure you know”-a bit of a smile appears on your face and you look off to the side-“We truly created a beautiful person together. But he’s already beginning to feel different and isolated because of such differences. If you let him spend time with me, let my mother see him and perhaps let my brother see him too then I'm sure that he’d have a better understanding of where those differences come from and feel more secure as a person. He’d also be happier because he’d have other, more similar people to talk to too.” Your eyes flash a little warningly. You want to say that you have plenty in common with your son, even though you’re not certain that’s true yourself. “He’d fit in with us even if he didn't with no one else”-your mouth opens. Mycroft’s gone too far now-“You risk making him miserable by carrying on as you are. Wouldn't you rather that he knew where he came from?” he asks. You let out a little breath and look down. “For another thing, and the main other reason that I wanted to see you again was because of how I feel.” You look up at him. “I know that we only slept together that night because we thought that it would get the mutual attraction that we felt for each other out of our systems and let us carry on with our lives, but for me, like I’ve said, the attraction never stopped and I think that you feel the same”-

 

“I'm happy with Ed,” you murmur. 

 

“Perhaps,” Mycroft says, breaking the final gap between you and stroking at your bare arms. He sends tingles all over them. 

 

You swallow and turn around, trying to get your head clear. Finally, and with your head off to the side, you say, “Are you really telling me that despite everything, despite the fact that we haven’t seen each other in years, your mind has been on me all this time”-

 

“On both Oliver and you,” Mycroft corrects you gently. 

 

“Do you really mean it? You haven’t had any fumbles with anyone else in the Diogenes Club or wherever else?”

 

“There’s been nothing no, not even with Anthea who filled the position when you left.” You swallow. “Oliver and you have been constantly in my thoughts, and do not think that just because you have not seen me that I haven’t been keeping an eye on the pair of you. I watched as you left the hospital with Oliver for the first time, I saw you pushing him in that f/c pram of yours”-your eyes widen at this first proof that he really _has_ been keeping an eye on you all of this time-“I saw him pointing at birds as they sung in the trees with those chubby, small hands of his and I watched proudly from a distance as he left for school that first morning he was old enough to. If I had not known that it would have upset you than I would have liked for him to receive a private education and I would have sent you the money to ensure that such a thing could happen. The pair of you have always been in the centre of my heart.”

 

You shake your head, not knowing what to make of it all. “This is insane. What do you expect? That we all just start playing happy families now that you’ve shown up and act like the past few years haven’t happened?” 

 

Mycroft’s hands go to your waist. “Tell me that you don’t feel the same.”

 

“I don’t”-

 

“Turn around, look me in the eye and tell me,” Mycroft growls, spinning you around with his hands, so that you’re facing him. 

 

“I have a husband, _children”-_

 

“One of them by me,” Mycroft says fervently, before he kisses you. You let out a great gasp into his mouth and your hands go to his shoulders. You try to push him back, whilst your brain yells, _‘Oh God, oh God,’_ and tries to fight against what your body wants, which is to kiss him, stroke at his hair and never, ever let him go. He doesn’t let you pull away. Instead his hands just tighten on your waist and his body pushes even closer to yours. He feels that same initial resistance that he’d felt from you in the Diogenes Club at first, but, just like then the pressure that he’s supplying manages to wear you down and you draw back to let out a breath for only the briefest of fractions when you need air, before your body presses against his and you kiss him desperately again as your hands cup at his cheeks. You break free from the kiss just a moment later, and as you let out what is already half a regretful breath you cup the back of his head with one hand. You rake your fingers against his hair for a moment, before they still and you rest your head down upon his shoulder. You can feel your heart banging against your chest as Mycroft continues to support you. _’You really shouldn't have done that,’_ you think. You let out another breath, but then your body prickles all over as you get the feeling that someone’s watching you, and as your eyes dart to the sliding door and you see that Oliver’s standing behind it with wide eyes and an open mouth your own drops open and you jerk back from Mycroft. Mycroft looks at you in concern. _“Oliver,”_ you blurt out and Mycroft swivels around to see that the boy’s there looking at you both in shock. You quickly swim past Mycroft, whilst your mind says, _‘Shit, shit, shit,’_ all the while and dress, flinging your clothes on over your sodden costume. When you’re halfway through though Oliver seems to come out of whatever daze he’s in and hurriedly makes to turn around, but you say, “Oliver wait!” Thankfully he does so and you stuff your feet back inside your shoes and tumble inside, grabbing at his shoulder and turning him to face you. His eyes slide from you to Mycroft who’s still in the pool where you’d left him. You crouch down in front of Oliver, putting your hands upon his shoulders. 

 

“Dad sent me to get you. He was worried because you’d been a while,” Oliver blurts out, no doubt anxious himself that you might be about to tell him off and confused about what he’s just seen. His eyes slide to Mycroft again. 

 

You rub at his shoulders to get him to look back at you. “I know that you’re sorry about last night and that you’d only be wandering about because Dad told you to sweetheart, that’s fine.”

 

Oliver nods jerkily, before his eyes go back to the pool again. “Why were you”-

 

“Listen darling,” you cut him off, aware of your heart thumping in your ears and the great need to explain all of this carefully. “What ever you’ve just seen or think you’ve seen I need you to forget about it okay?”-

 

“But”-

 

“Oliver it’s really nothing to worry about sweetheart okay? But if you tell anyone then it will reflect badly on the both of us and you don’t want that do you?” 

 

Oliver looks uncertain. “Why would it look bad on me?” he asks. 

 

You huff out a frustrated breath. “Just trust me on this.” Again Oliver looks a little dubious, before he nods. “Good,” you squeeze at his shoulders feeling terribly guilty, “Good boy.” You duck your head for a moment, before you look back up at him. “Just keep quiet about it all. If Daddy asks then just say that I was in the pool all by myself when you came to fetch me okay?” Oliver hesitates a moment, before he nods. Still feeling guilty you run your damp fingers through his hair. “Good.” You stand. “You go back to Daddy and Samantha now. Tell them that I’ll be along in a minute.” Oliver nods and moves away. 

 

When you look back at the pool it’s to find that Mycroft’s already gone.

 

*

 

You’re eating your breakfast at a table in the downstairs of the hotel that next Tuesday morning, wearing a blue and black patterned dress with flat cream coloured shoes and feeling uncomfortable. You’d barely gotten any sleep the previous night. You’d felt guilty about the position that you’d put Oliver in, terrified that he might yet still say something and angry with yourself that you might have messed everything up all because of one bloody kiss. But you feel absolutely horrified when Mycroft comes swaggering up to where you’re all sat as he twirls his usual umbrella in a black three-piece suit, red tie that has maroon diamonds upon it, silver tie pin and white shirt with the chain of a pocket watch visible and looks at both Ed-who’s in a muddy brown jumper and jeans-and you. “Ah, hello,” he addresses you both, and you find yourself hunched over and frozen with a fork full of scrambled eggs halfway to your mouth as you stare at him. “I didn't get the chance to the other day, but your son was flying a beautiful red kite and I’d like to help his control of it if that would be acceptable to you?” Ed opens his mouth. “The camp site and picnic area as you probably know were all flooded out yesterday, but apart from it being a bit damp and squelchy they’re both fit for purpose today.” 

 

“Are you the one who approached Oliver the other night and told him about the storm?” Ed asks, before you can stop him. 

 

“Ah yes, you’ll have to forgive me, I'm an insomniac”-

 

“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” Ed says with bit of a dark look at you. You swallow and lean back a little, lowering your fork back down to your plate. 

 

Mycroft looks between the pair of you curiously.

 

“My friend from work, Jane, she texted at a strange hour the other night. She’s an insomniac too,” you explain to him. 

 

“Ah,” Mycroft’s face clears, “How quaint. I’ll have to meet up with her sometime. It’s always nice to know that there’s more of us. Anyway”-his attention goes back to Ed- “You’ll have to forgive me for the little intrusion the other night. I was only concerned about what a boy your son’s age might be doing up and about at that time and I only mentioned that it might be a good idea if he returned to you all and told you about the storm in passing”-

 

“You mentioned something about how you used to be F/N’s boss to him?” Ed asks, still not giving up on the interrogation.

 

“Ah, yes, well, he mentioned how he doesn’t talk to strangers. You've taught him well,” Mycroft begins conversationally and you hate him in that moment, “Then I made the point”-he gestures with his fingers-“That I am not in fact a stranger because his mother did once used to work for me.” Ed nods. “Now however I must admit that I enjoy coming up here on holiday more than I find pleasure in my work and that I like helping other people when I can and sharing little titbits of knowledge with them.”

 

“So the thing about you helping kids fly their kites better was”-

 

“Perfectly true,” Mycroft smiles, “So if young Master er”-

 

_“Oliver,”_ Oliver-in his dark trousers, cream coloured sweater vest, white shirt and red tie-says promptly when Mycroft looks at him. 

 

“Ah yes, of course, forgive me, I must be getting old. If young Master Oliver wanted to fly a kite at an extraordinary level of capability today?”-

 

“Oh please can I?” Oliver says, looking between both Ed and you eagerly. 

 

“Yeah, I don’t see why not,” Ed says with a grudging thoughtfulness, before you can try and think of a good way to voice your misgivings. Your husband looks around at you all and you try to smooth out your expression. His gaze goes back to Mycroft. “We’ll all go down to the picnic site after we finish our breakfast.”

 

“Splendid,” Mycroft says, leaning back and you look at him once more out of narrowed eyes. He goes off a moment later twirling his umbrella. 

 

“I told you he was brilliant,” Oliver murmurs, an excited glow all about him. You force a smile at him. 

 

“Strange man,” Ed mutters, before he goes back to his bacon, “I can see why you like him though Olls”- he says in a more jovial tone.

 

_“Oliver”-_ Oliver huffs out automatically.

 

“He looks a bit like your old man doesn’t he?” Oliver pulls a bit of a face as if he disagrees with that, but thankfully Ed doesn’t seem to notice because another thought occurs to him. “You didn't used to have a crush on him did you?” He looks at you. 

 

You force a smile at him and brush a strand of his hair back behind his ear. “You’re the only auburn haired man I’ve ever had a crush on darling.”

 

_“Aw,”_ Ed pecks on your lips, whilst Oliver looks on uncomfortably and Samantha in her red dress lets out a bit of a squeal. 

 

“Saying that though,” you lean back from him, “I do think that I'm going to use the bathroom facilities before we go.” Ed nods and you squeeze at his shoulder and force another smile at him, before you abandon your now cold scrambled eggs and hurry off. 

 

As soon as you dart inside the closest bathroom and establish that no one’s inside it you take a few steps forwards, so that you’re facing the dryers that are right down the bottom and take out your phone. _What the hell are you playing at?_ You type, but before you can send it to Mycroft a voice whispers in your ear, “I'm trying to establish trust.” You swivel around with a start to see that Mycroft, now without his umbrella, has managed to silently slip in behind you without you noticing. “If you trust me with Oliver and trust me with yourself then you might become more willing to let my mother see him. But I will not achieve that unless I spend time with the pair of you.” You barely open your mouth, before there comes the sound of laughter and the click-clack of high heels as someone approaches. “Quick,” Mycroft murmurs, turning you and pushing you hurriedly inside the end cubicle. He follows you in and locks the door behind you both. To try and cover up the fact now that there are two of you inside the one cubicle, at Mycroft’s command you jump up and wrap your legs around his waist. He swivels around to be in the right position just as the door opens. Your heart bangs inside of your chest as you hear two women stepping inside. Your awkward position has made the flaps of Mycroft’s jacket hitch up over you and they brush over your bare legs. You cling onto him tightly, your hands clawing onto his back and your head close to his shoulder as you listen to the footsteps. The women take up two of the other cubicles. One of them by your end one and the other woman on the other side of her. 

 

You hear two bums perching on seats. “Anyway, as I was telling Lorraine back home,” one of them says, clearly continuing a conversation that had been started elsewhere, “Aside from the storm of course this little place has been simply delightful.”

 

“I quite agree,” the other woman concurs over a trickling of urine that comes from one of them, “Although”- she hesitates. 

 

_“Yes?”_ the other woman asks keenly. 

 

“Well, I haven’t told you what I saw last night yet”-

 

“Ooh do go on, that sounds simply delicious,” the woman encourages her friend’s gossip, whilst you squeeze your legs around Mycroft a little more and shift your position, so that your hands come to be clamped on the sides of his neck. You wish that they’d hurry up and leave. You feel like a koala clinging on to a particularly warm tree here. Mycroft swallows as his fingers scrape against your posterior when he shifts his own position and you let out a little jerk of breath at feeling such a thing. Thankfully it goes unnoticed. 

 

“Well, I was looking out of the window-I’ve told you that Bill and my room overlooks the pool haven’t I?”

 

“Yes dear,” the woman’s friend says patiently as your leg shifts against Mycroft. You let out a little squeak when a tingling sensation bursts through you and Mycroft must feel the same, for he lets out a breath, but neither of the woman hear it because there’s a particularly strong burst of urine. 

 

“Well, I looked out and there was a couple frolicking in the pool”- you nearly lose your balance and Mycroft grunts-“They must have been middle-aged too.”

 

_‘Speak for’-_ is all that you begin to mouth, before Mycroft slaps his hand over your mouth. The pair of you both wobble for a moment and you have to push into him even more to make up for his sudden lack of support. Mycroft lets out another breath. 

 

“Dear me, and when you say _‘frolicking?’”_ one of the women says, obviously trying to not let on how curious she really is as she stands up. 

 

“Well,” the other one says over the sound of the toilet flushing, “There was a long kiss”-

 

“With children here too.”

 

“I know. Anyone could have seen them,” the other woman agrees. There comes another toilet being flushed and more noise as they both move out of the cubicles with a frightening synchronization. After some hand washing they finally leave the bathroom. 

 

“We were hardly frolicking,” you hiss in annoyance as Mycroft removes his hand from your mouth and you finally clamber down from him, nearly kneeing him in the groin as you do so. “Oops sorry,” you say, before you carry on, “We were bloody arguing more than anything.” 

 

“Yes, well,” Mycroft says dryly, straightening his jacket and brushing himself down, “There is rather a thin line between love and hate after all. What to us was arguing, to _them”-_ he waves a hand and raises his eyebrows delicately as he breaks off deliberately. 

 

“We can’t keep doing this,” you mutter agitatedly, “They’re right. Anyone could have seen us and anyone _did_ see us. I think I’ve managed to persuade Oliver to be silent, but I’m not taking that risk again. I’ll go along with this kite thing, mainly because you’ve given me no choice”-you give him a bit of a glare and Mycroft swallows-“But after that I’d like you to respect my wishes and leave us alone. I know that what you’re going through is hard Mycroft, but I can’t bear to see my family ruined because of it,” and with that you swivel around and exit the cubicle. 

 

Mycroft follows after you and stands beside you imploringly as you wash your hands because it feels wrong not to. “We wouldn't have to keep doing anything if you just gave me permission to take Oliver to see my mother even if you don’t want to come yourself”-

 

“My family”- you turn your head towards him desperately. 

 

“What about _mine?_ My _mother?_ According to my brother she’s getting weaker every day”-

 

“And I'm sorry about that, but I just can’t Mycroft. I need you to leave us alone,” and with that you leave the bathroom. 

 

**Part Six**

 

“Come on Olls,” Ed says as soon as you all get down to the picnic area, “Let’s go and fly that kite.” The grass is more like moss underfoot now, but the day’s dry and with the wind that’s in the air it should be perfect kite flying weather. 

 

“But Dad,” Oliver protests, looking over at Mycroft who’s just standing a short distance away and smiling serenely at you all as he spins his umbrella, “I want to fly it with Mycroft.”

 

“Pah, Mycroft’s got nothing on your old man,” Ed says, before he tries to pull the red kite out of Oliver’s hands. 

 

_“Dad!”_ Oliver objects, trying to tug it back. 

 

You all come to a standstill and you stroke at Samantha’s hair absent-mindedly as you watch the battle and feel worried about what could be ahead. Should you have put your foot down and not even gone through with all this? No matter how odd it would have looked to your husband and how much your son might have protested? 

 

Mycroft raises his eyebrows. 

 

Ed finally manages to wrestle the kite from Oliver and tries to throw it up into the air right there and then. It flops a little in the sky, before it begins to fall back down again. 

 

“Dad you’re doing it all wrong.”

 

“Nonsense,” Ed says though he looks frustrated. He tries to get the kite up in the air. It soars in an arc and plummets back into the ground. You let out a breath. 

 

“Mr. er”- Mycroft comes a little awkwardly towards you all. 

 

“Bennett,” Ed fills in grumpily. 

 

“Mr. Bennett,” Mycroft says more confidently, “I'm afraid that Oliver is most correct. It is not good enough just to send the kite into the air on a windy day. You have to decipher exactly, which direction the wind is coming from and calculate the best angle in which you should then stand. May I?” he gestures towards the kite. 

 

Ed hands it over to him reluctantly. “It’s just supposed to be a bit of fun,” he mutters, “I'm not supposed to feel like I'm back at work.”

 

Sensing danger, and as Mycroft and Oliver head off to find the best angle, you place a hand on Ed’s arm. “Come on love, let’s go and sit down.”

 

Ed looks at how Oliver’s half-turned towards Mycroft as they walk, bouncing on his heels and clearly hanging off the older man’s every word. He lets out a bit of a sigh and allows you to drag him away.

 

“At least he’s cheered up,” you try and console your husband as you sit down at one of the picnic tables. You take the bench that’s closest to Mycroft and Oliver and sit with your back turned towards the table, holding Samantha, who stands in between your legs close to you, whilst Ed slouches on the bench behind you. 

 

“Yeah,” comes the miserable voice of your husband and you look back around at him sympathetically, grabbing at his hand briefly, before you face the front again when you sense that Ed is still annoyed with you. He’d been frustrated when you’d taken so long in the bathroom. You’d had to say that there was a queue, but that hadn’t seemed to excuse you. Ed had just seemed to have the opinion that you should have gone elsewhere. 

 

Oliver meanwhile gazes at where the kite is dancing in the air with wide eyes. Its never gone so high before. It looks like it’s touching the very clouds themselves or even searching for a chink of blue in the grey-white sky. He twists his head around, so that he can look at Mycroft who’s standing just behind him. 

 

“Careful,” Mycroft murmurs, removing one of his hands from Oliver’s waist. His umbrella is now on the ground beside them. He tilts one of Oliver’s hands upwards from where it’s clinging onto the piece of wood that can be used to steer the kite from where its suddenly dipped down. 

 

“You kissed my mother,” Oliver blurts out, and he does not know why he says such a thing, only that it has been something that has been on his mind and which confuses him. 

 

“I did,” Mycroft admits gravely with a nod. 

 

“Why?” Oliver asks, looking back up at the kite again. 

 

Mycroft swallows and considers the question. He helps Oliver to guide the kite again, before he says, “Sometimes people just do things in the heat of the moment.”

 

Oliver’s brow creases. “But she kissed you back and she shouldn't have because she’s with Dad and you can’t be with two people at once,” he says, looking back up at the older man again.

 

“You can in some cultures,” Mycroft says, slipping one of his hands onto Oliver’s shoulders and giving it a bit of a squeeze when the boy’s mouth opens. “But in any case you have to know that it is possible to love more than one person at the same time.”

 

_“Really?”_ Oliver asks. 

 

“Of course,” Mycroft murmurs, “Your mother loves your sister and you as well as Ed doesn’t she?”

 

Oliver thinks about it for a moment. “But that’s a different kind of love isn't it?”-

 

“Yes it is,” Mycroft swallows. As he thinks that he really can’t avoid saying such a thing any more, not after Oliver having brought up the kiss and with this desperate desire that’s inside of him to get the boy to understand how he feels for you and the truth of your relationship, he says, “Oliver,” decisively, “I must tell you something. There’s something that you need to know.” For he won’t be just an old boss of yours any more, just a person that’s in the background, in the past. Oliver twists his head around to look at him even more, but the blazing determined expression that’s on Mycroft’s face frightens him. “Oliver”-

 

“No,” Oliver says, turning around and stepping back from Mycroft. He has no clue about what the older man’s going to say, but he senses all the same that it’s something bad and he doesn’t want to hear it. 

 

“Oliver,” Mycroft crouches in front of the little boy and he does not see how at the picnic table both Ed and you stand. 

 

_“No”-_ Oliver gets out, feeling even more afraid. He shakes his head. 

 

Mycroft leans towards him urgently. “I know to you it does not seem like I'm family, like it must seem that I'm very unimportant to you, but I am someone that you should consider most important.” He looks off to the side and bites at his lip for a moment, whilst Oliver continues to shake his head. Ed begins to move towards them both and you hurry after him. This is the last chance that Mycroft has to back out of it, but he’s gone too far now so he says, “I'm your father,” as he looks back at Oliver. 

 

The boys eyes widen and he lets out a loud, _‘No!’_ that pierces both Mycroft’s ears and heart, before he lets go of the kite, which floats up into the air and knocks against Mycroft’s shoulder as he runs towards Ed. Tears already fly from his eyes. 

 

Mycroft lets out a soft breath and looks towards the ground for a moment, before he stands up and braces himself. He watches as Oliver skids to a stop in front of Ed who holds the boy back by his shoulders. Watches Oliver gesture with his hands as he no doubt explains what Mycroft’s just said. Watches Ed’s eyes darken and his face change. He looks across at him with an ugly expression upon his face. Mycroft does not move, but all of a sudden Ed does. He pushes Oliver aside with one hand easily and charges towards him. You try to catch up to Ed and grab onto his arm. You yell at him to stop. Samantha cries as she follows after you, not understanding. Mycroft swallows as Ed reaches him and allows the other man’s fist to connect with his cheek because he senses that, that needs to happen, before there can be anything better. 

 

“What the hell?” Ed asks, and the roar of sound that erupts from his mouth suddenly seems to bring everything into a clearer focus and Mycroft can feel the pounding of his heart, the way that his feet have staggered back without him even realizing that they’d done so and feel the way that his cheek now stings. He raises a hand to it. His eyes glance at Samantha’s upset and blotchy face, the way that Oliver looks so pale as he stands in the background and at your desperate, pleading eyes, before they go back to Ed’s frightened outraged ones. “What the hell do you mean that you’re his father? What sort of game is this? I swear if you’ve touched my son in any way that’s inappropriate then”-

 

“He’s not your son,” Mycroft interrupts him coolly, sending panic and chaos out from him with just those four words and Ed’s fist threatens to go flying towards him again, but you grab at it and try to wrench it back. 

 

“Ed please”-

 

“I'm sorry, but he isn't,” Mycroft goes on, and you struggle to keep Ed back, struggle to deal with your own emotion as you feel your husband’s breath hitching and sense some of the sadness that is already starting to overtake him. “He’s mine. F/N and I slept together just before you met.”

 

Ed makes a sound that you’ve never heard a human being make before, an odd cross between agony and anger, before he lunges at Mycroft again. This time you can’t stop him and the next thing that you know is that he’s barrelled Mycroft over and is pinning him down to the ground. Mycroft’s heart beats unevenly in his chest as he looks up at the other man. 

 

“Ed,” you mutter fearfully, stepping forwards and bending down, so that you can grab at his arm and try and lift him up again. 

 

“Why aren't you saying what a load of rubbish this all is?” Ed asks, looking off to the side, but his spit still manages to find Mycroft’s face and the British Government scrunches it up unpleasantly. “I thought that you might have a crush on him, but it’s the other way around isn't it? He’s just been harassing you and trying to ruin everything.” You swallow and as Ed realizes that in actual fact what Mycroft’s said is true his gaze goes back to the other man. It is then, as he sees Ed’s face crumple, that Mycroft fully realizes the extent of what he’s done. Your husband lets out a sort of weird shuddery breath, before he finally lifts himself off Mycroft. 

 

“Ed,” you say as he turns around. 

 

_“No,”_ he lifts his finger and moves past you. 

 

“Daddy,” Samantha wails, but Ed ignores her and starts to begin making his way back up to the hotel. 

 

Mycroft sits up just as your gaze goes back to him. 

 

“I hope you’re happy,” you mutter, still looking at him for a moment, before you turn your back on him, grab Oliver and Samantha’s hands and begin to walk away. 

 

“Mummy you’re hurting me,” Samantha protests, before you’ve barely gone more than five steps. 

 

Oliver keeps looking back over his shoulder at Mycroft. “Oliver face the front”-

 

“How can he be my dad?”

 

You let go of both of their hands, spin around and crouch down in front of Oliver. “Oliver that man,” you say, putting your hands on his shoulders and nodding at Mycroft, “Is not your dad.” Oliver opens his mouth, whilst Samantha sniffles and cries. _“That”-_ you lift one of your hands up to point at Mycroft-“Hasn't even been there for you for more than five minutes. Your dad is currently on his way back to the hotel, feeling absolutely awful and I’ve got to try and make up for that.” You stand up again. 

 

“But”- Oliver begins.

 

You ignore him, turn and grab at their hands, before you begin to march off once more. 

 

_“Mummy!”_ Samantha cries, but you ignore her too. 

 

As soon as you get back to the hotel room and you see Ed with his head arched angrily as he paces back and forth behind the other side of the bed you murmur, “Oliver, take your sister to your room please”-

 

“Only she’s not his sister is she?” Ed faces you, his eyes flashing, “They’re only half-siblings. Unless Samantha’s not mine too?”

 

“She’s yours,” is what you tell him somewhat heavily, as Samantha sniffles even more loudly, before you usher both children towards the adjoining door. Oliver steers his sister through it, looks back at you and then goes through it himself. A beat passes, before you say, “Ed”-

 

“Nine years,” Ed says with his body trembling, “Nearly nine years I’ve been like a father to that boy”-

 

“I know”-

 

“What was it?” Ed makes a scoffing noise, looking at the bedside lamp instead of you, “Did you just think that you’d sleep with the first auburn haired idiot who came along and try and pass them off as the father?”-

 

“No it wasn’t like that.” Ed looks at you sharply and you feel cowed. “All right, I-I admit that it was a little like that at first”- Ed makes a noise as if to say that he can’t believe that this is actually happening-“But I love you Ed, I really do.”

 

“Let me guess,” Ed asks, “It was just a quick shag and then he didn't want to know any more?”

 

“I-It was something like that yes,” you admit, swallowing a little as tears begin to stain your face. 

 

“You know what?” Ed says, holding a hand up and looking away, “Spare me the details. I don’t want to know. I guess it’s just lucky for you that I came along and made it easier for you to pass off Oliver as mine, though admittedly there were times when even _I_ wondered”-you let out a breath-“His attitude?” You swallow. Ed shakes his head and makes a choking noise. You look at him anxiously. “But I passed all that off as coming from your side of the family. I thought that’s why you were so hard on him because you could see yourself in him, but really you could see _him,_ and you didn't want to be reminded of that.” Again you swallow. “But how? How could you not tell me anything for nearly nine years? Nearly ten actually by the time that we factor in your pregnancy. What was it?” He moves off towards the bedside lamp and tries to pull it away in his anger, but the plug refuses to budge. He gives up on it with an annoyed sound and opens one of the small, but deep drawers of the bedside cabinet. He pulls out your black pyjama bottoms, rolls them up and throws them at you. You let out a little breath and dodge them. They fall just behind you. “Was I not good enough for you? Did I not work and struggle all the hours that I could to give you and our supposed family a nice life?” He throws another thing at you. This time it’s your pyjama top and it slams against your chest, before it falls at your feet. He clambers up onto the bed and walks across it, shoes and all, before he drops down again. He proceeds to open the wooden wardrobe with such force that it lets out a rattle. “Was I not there for you?” he asks. He begins to pull the clothes off the hangers, before the hangers themselves start coming your way. You dodge as many of them as you can and let out a shriek when one of the hangers catches against the top of your thigh. You try and make your way to Ed in between it all and finally done he faces you, breathing heavily, “Did I not read to the kids? Did I not do my fair share of nappy changing and cleaning up sick? Did I not teach Oliver to ride a bike and help Samantha with her tricycle? Did I not put plasters on them when they got hurt?”

 

“Yes you did all of that!” you say, tears streaming down your face. 

 

“Then for God’s sake F/N why? Why couldn't you just treat me with the respect that I deserve and just tell me?” He looks away from you and although you desperately want to you don’t go towards him. You just hover there with your arms a little outstretched and your fingers splayed instead, whilst your heart thuds and your mind worries. “The stupid thing is,” Ed says and your ears strain to hear every word just in case they can help you make up for this somehow. He looks back at you. His face is pained and his eyes shine with tears. “Is that if you’d just told me and been honest then I probably would have grown to be fine with it. I would have raised Oliver as my own, but now, after all these years and only just finding out now I can’t, I just _can’t”-_

 

_“Ed”-_ you plead, reaching a hand out towards him. 

 

“Tell me something,” he utters, “Have you just been meeting up with Mycroft in secret for all these years?”-

 

“No”-

 

“Then this whole thing, the fact that he’s suddenly appeared on the scene now”-

 

“He came here now because his mother’s dying and he wants Oliver to meet her. She doesn’t know about any of this”-

 

“How did he even know that we were here though?”

 

You hesitate just long enough for Ed’s face to darken. “He’s good at finding out things without having to ask.”

 

Ed looks at you disbelievingly. “This mother thing then. Did he tell you that when he wanted to supposedly help Oliver with his kite the other day? Or did you lie about that too?”

 

“The kite thing was real.” You hesitate and look off to the side. 

 

“The truth F/N. I need the truth.”

 

You swallow and look back at him. “H-He joined me in the pool the other night”-

 

“Christ,” Ed raises a hand to his temple and looks away. _“And?”_ he presses, looking back at you. 

 

“We kissed, and Oliver saw, but that’s it I swear”-

 

“Oliver saw?” Ed thinks about it for a moment. “He really isn't mine if he kept that from me”-

 

“It wasn’t his fault. I made him. He was confused. But it was just one kiss, that’s it I swear, and I couldn't regret it any more”-

 

Ed exhales loudly and his fists clench up. “You cheated on me then?” he says, his voice nearly wavering. 

 

“No”-Ed looks at you-“Yes, but I swear, I swear that it was just that one kiss and nothing more than that and that I love you.”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Ed says, “You cheated on me. I’m going home. I’ve had enough.” He grabs his black bag from where it has been by the side of the wardrobe and dumps it in the middle of the bed. 

 

“I”-

 

“I’ll take Samantha. I don’t want Oliver and you joining us,” Ed says as he begins to root around the mess on the floor to find his clothes. “I don’t want to see either of you ever again.”

 

“Ed”- you beg. 

 

“We’ll check out in the morning. We’ll take the car. If you want anything then you better take it out now, and I don’t want either of you sleeping here tonight”-

 

“But”- you begin hopelessly, thinking of Oliver more than of yourself. 

 

“What?” Ed looks at you, “Doesn't Mycroft have a nice place where you can all live? Didn't he tell you such a thing, before you kissed in the pool the other night, and don’t think that I believe that was the only time you did so either. You've probably been meeting up with him for years. It was him that you were texting the other night wasn’t it? Not Jane.”

 

You swallow. “I”-

 

Ed pulls a disgusted face. “Yeah, I thought so. God I’ve been stupid all this time. I bet you almost laughed when I asked you if Mycroft had come here with his family because it was partly true wasn’t it? How else would he have honestly known to come here if you hadn’t been in touch all these years? Well, you don’t have to sneak about any more. You can all be one big happy family at last and then you can go and see his mother as much as you like.”

 

“Ed it isn't like that. I don’t want to be with him. I want to be with you. I _love_ you”- 

 

“Don’t give me that crap F/N,” Ed says, “If you loved me then you would have just told me. The truth is that I was just a nice face for you to go out with in public all these years. A nice idiot who did all the crap that Mycroft wasn’t prepared to do. Well, not any more. You’ll either have to live with Mycroft or on your own with Oliver because I'm not putting up with it any more. ” He drops a few things into his bag, before he marches across and opens the adjoining door to the children’s room. “Look,” he breathes in a rumbling tone as he peers in, “Look at what you’ve done.” You swallow and go across to join him meekly. Your breath hitches and more tears roll down your face when you see that Oliver and Samantha are sitting on Oliver’s bed that’s on the left. They’re both facing you and Oliver’s got his back to the headboard. His face looks pale as he holds his sister close to him. Samantha’s got tears streaming down her face as she sits in between her brother’s legs. “Samantha we’ll be leaving in the morning, so if you want to start packing”-

 

“But my talent show,” she gurgles. 

 

“We need to go home sweetheart,” Ed says. 

 

“Oliver?” you call in a wavering tone and your son’s eyes go to you, “I think you better pack your things right away and come with me.”

 

Oliver’s mouth opens a little. Ed tuts and moves away from the door. When you look back at him it is to see him throwing his bag off the bed, before he sits down upon the duvet, his back to the headboard and his ankles crossed. You swallow. 

 

_“Mum?”_ you hear Oliver croak. 

 

You look back at him and your heart softens when you see how confused he looks. “Come on sweetheart, pack your things,” you encourage. 

 

Oliver lets go of his sister and scrambles off the bed, before his eyes go back to you. “What’s happening with Dad, and-and Samantha?”

 

“They’re going to go home tomorrow and-and we’re going to stay here until the end of the week like we always planned and then we’ll see”-

 

“What does that mean? Are Dad and you?”- Oliver looks past you through the door. 

 

“I don’t know,” you say, going further into the room. 

 

“Mummy! Mummy!” Samantha jumps off the bed and rushes at you. You crouch down and hold her tight. 

 

“Shh, shh,” you run your hands over her hair and press your head against her shoulder, “It’s going to be all right”-

 

“You don’t know that though,” Oliver says, and his voice sounds unusually scared and loud.

 

You lift your head up a little and your eyes go to him. “No, maybe I don’t, but I do know that whatever happens I’ll always love the pair of you.”

 

“When will I see you again?” Samantha pulls back from you. 

 

“I don’t know darling,” you brush her tears away with the back of your hand. Her bottom lip wobbles. “But you have to be brave now,” you stroke at her cheek, “And you have to be good for-for your Daddy,” your hand stills and Oliver freezes from where he’s started to pack in the background. You swallow a couple of times. “Promise me, promise me that you’ll be good for your Daddy no matter how long it will be, before we see each other again?”

 

Samantha gurgles and clutches at your hair for a moment. “I promise Mummy.”

 

“Good girl,” you peck her on the forehead and squeeze at her shoulders. You stand up and when Samantha wraps an arm around your middle you soothe, “I’ll see you in a moment sweetheart. I'm just going to pack.” You look at Oliver. He nods. 

 

You retreat to the other room silently. Ed’s still sitting on the bed and he watches you with folded arms as you pack, not saying a word. Finally, when you’re done, he slips off it and stands. 

 

“Get whatever you need to from the car and then put the car keys underneath the door of this room once you’re done.”

 

“Can’t we?”-

 

_“No.”_

 

Your body slumps, but not surprised by the way that he’s behaving you just nod. “Oliver?” you call. 

 

Oliver comes creeping into the room a moment later with Samantha practically attached to his side. He looks at both Ed and you, before the bag that he’s carrying drops down to the floor. 

 

Samantha spins towards her brother and hugs him tightly, pressing the side of her head against his chest and closing her eyes as she murmurs, “You’re the best big brother in the whole entire world.”

 

Oliver, with a lump in his throat, tries to peel her off him, before he relents and kisses at the top of her hair. 

 

You look across at Ed to see if he’s feeling as touched as you are by all of this, but he’s just got his head turned off to the side stubbornly. 

 

Samantha finally lets go of her brother and he comes across awkwardly joining you with his bag, pulling down his sweater vest and looking across at Ed a little tentatively. 

 

Samantha runs across to you and you hug her again, breathing in her scent. “I’ll see you soon sweetheart. I want to see her,” you direct this last message at Ed as you pick up your bag and straighten up again. He makes a sound of acknowledgement, but doesn’t look at you. Feeling pain in your heart you place your free hand on Oliver’s shoulder and steer him towards the door. 

 

Oliver has just opened it when Ed says, “You know Olls I used to be proud of how much you look like me, only now I know that it wasn’t me at all.” Oliver’s lips part and he freezes. You look over your shoulder. Ed’s still got his head off to one side and he appears to be deep in his own thought. “I gave you everything,” he chokes, and you know that, that’s meant for you. 

 

You swallow, increase your grip on Oliver’s shoulder and guide him out of the door. 

 

“What’s going on? Are we going to stay in another room? Are we going to see Mycroft? We’ll be going home at some point won’t we?” are the first things that Oliver asks, looking back at the now shut hotel door.

 

You can hear the fear in his voice and you grab at his hand. Your own heart is pounding. “Oliver,” you say, “Just try and stay calm, whilst we get what we need to from the car and get the tent set up okay?”-

 

“The ground’s all damp Mum,” Oliver reminds you. 

 

“I know,” you squeeze at his hand, “But I think that’s the best place for us right now and I think that we’ll be okay.” Oliver looks at you and you can tell that he doubts you. You hold his hand even more firmly. 

 

For a time the pair of you are kept busy getting the camping things out of the car, returning the key to Ed and Samantha’s hotel room and setting everything up at the camp site. 

 

As soon as you’ve managed to secure the last peg of the tent firmly into the ground you look up at Oliver from your crouched position as a flare of brief triumph runs through you. 

 

Your breath dies in the air though as soon as you see Oliver’s tear-stained face. “I'm sorry Mum”-your mouth opens even wider-“I'm sorry for being so mean to you the other night.”

 

“Oh sweetheart,” you get up and hug him, “That’s in the past. It’s all forgiven.” He forces a half-smile at you and you wish that solving things with Ed could be so easy. “Come, come, lets get everything inside.” You take your bags in, stretch out a piece of tarpaulin canvas so that you can both be more comfortable when you sit down and change your clothes, putting on jeans and a warm grey jumper instead. 

 

You make a cup of tea for you both, but Oliver’s barely sipped at it when he lifts his head up from the cup. You see that his lips are trembling. “I'm scared,” he confesses. 

 

You put both cups of tea safely aside and wrap your arms around him. Oliver sniffles and squeezes his eyes shut and pushes his head against your chest and you hold him close, rubbing at his hair. “It’s all right, shh, shh, it’s all right. I'm scared too, but we’re going to get through this.”

 

“But what’s going to happen to us?” Oliver pulls his head back from you. His blue eyes are swimming with tears. “Are we going to be homeless now?” 

 

You twist around and hold him by his shoulders away from you. “It’s like I’ve told you,” you breathe, “We’re going to stay here until Saturday morning and you’re going to ask me any questions that you’ve got and I'm going to make sure that you understand this situation the best that you can okay?” Oliver nods. “But I promise you that we’re not going to be homeless and that we’ll figure something out.” You pull his head to your chest again and just hold him close for a moment. His arms go around you. 

 

A minute or two later he pulls back from you and asks, “What did you mean when you said that you wanted to see Samantha? Would you not be able to see her unless you made that clear?”

 

You rub at his back and think about it all for a moment. “What you’ve got to understand Oliver is that Dad _-Ed-_ is very upset at the moment and he’s got every right to be okay?” Oliver nods. “I made a mistake in not telling him the truth all these years, but at the same time I honestly believed that what I was doing was right. I’ve really hurt him, and for a while, I don’t know for how long, but for a while he’ll probably feel like he doesn’t want to see either of us”-Oliver’s eyes widen-“It’s not your fault sweetheart,” you reassure him, “He’s not angry with you all right? He’s angry with me and with the fact that he’s not biologically your father. He’s angry because he wants to be as close to you as he possibly can be because you’re such a brilliant, clever little boy.” Oliver swallows and listens to you intently. You brush his hair back. “He’s angry because I've taken that away from him. But I promise you that we will see both of them again, and I want you to remember something okay? Ed may not be related to you by blood, but he’s done everything that a father should for you and I don’t want you to feel angry at him if you can help it. He should always be important to you and Samantha will always think of you as her brother”-

 

“But I'm not”-

 

“You have the same responsibility towards her as you always have sweetheart,” you tell him seriously and Oliver nods slowly. “She still needs you in her life and I'm going to make sure that Ed, no matter how angry he is right now, realizes that.”

 

“I still don’t understand though,” Oliver says, pulling a bit of a face, “What happened between Mycroft and you? Did he not want to be my dad?”-

 

“Oh he did sweetheart,” because you sense that’s true now, “But it’s complicated.” Oliver looks at you and you know that you have to give him more of an answer. Half a story is not acceptable here. “We just weren’t really sure if that would be the best thing for you”-

 

“Is that why you made out that I had a different father?” Oliver asks. 

 

“Something like that,” you say, avoiding his eyes a little.

 

“But if he’s my Dad then how would me not being with him be a good thing?”

 

You swallow, but when Oliver huffs out a breath you look at him. “He’s just got a very busy job”-

 

“The dad I thought I had has a very busy job,” Oliver protests. You swallow and look down again. “Did you love him?” 

 

“Yes. Very much.”

 

“Then why wouldn't have that been the best thing?” Oliver asks fervently and you pull a bit of an awkward face. “Do you love him now?”

 

“I'm not sure.” You shift uncomfortably. You think that you might, but this is all so hard and truthfully you still feel angry about what Mycroft has done to your family. 

 

Something inside Oliver seems to sink. “What does that mean?”-

 

“Sweetheart”- you move to toy with his hair. 

 

“Aren't we going to meet up with him? We could live with him couldn't we? We wouldn't be homeless then. Or am I not even going to have one dad now?” 

 

“Sweetheart,” you grasp at his hands and your eyes lock, “Listen to me all right? I don’t have all the answers myself right now. But I'm not sure if us living with Mycroft is what he’d really want”-

 

“Why not? Why wouldn't he want us to? Is that why you split up before? Because he didn't want us living with him?”-

 

“No”-

 

“Then why? I'm his son aren't I? He loves you doesn’t he? Isn't that the reason he’s come back here now? To get to know me? To see you again?”-

 

“I'm not sure if it’s what would be best for you,” you raise your voice over his. 

 

“But if he’s my dad, my _proper_ dad”-

 

Your heart emits a pang and you squeeze at your son’s hands. “I think we just need to let some time pass, before all of this can become clear to us and we can figure out what’s right. But, and don’t take too much stock by this statement because your Dad”-Oliver opens his mouth to ask which one of the men you mean-“Ed is very hurt right now and it might not happen, but I think that it would be best if we ended back where we've always lived with Ed and Samantha.”

 

Oliver frowns, but doesn’t say anything. 

 

You rub at his hair reassuringly again and slowly the two of you lie down together. Tired from it all it’s not long, before you fall asleep with your arms wrapped around your son.

 

*

 

Oliver wakes first. He finds that during when you’d both been sleeping you’d rolled around and you’re now in the fetal position. He watches you for a long moment, before his ears detect a muffled crackling noise that’s coming from outside. Feeling curious he shuffles out of the tent. 

 

It’s a surprise to see that two logs have been placed just a little distance away, forming a triangle with the tent. Just inside the point a small camp fire has been made and poking it with a stick as he sits on the log that’s to the left is Mycroft. 

 

A little breath escapes Oliver’s mouth and as Mycroft’s eyes capture his he makes to dart back inside the tent, thinking that he should probably wake you, but Mycroft murmurs, “It’s all right.” Oliver nods, but he makes his way to sit at the end of the log that Mycroft is currently occupying cautiously all the same. “Are you hungry?” Mycroft asks. “I’ve brought some sausages along and I can use the fire to cook them if you want.”

 

Oliver looks at him for a quick moment, before his eyes dart away again. “I'm fine thank you.”

 

Mycroft nods, poking at the fire some more. “Perhaps when your mother wakes then?” Oliver nods. Mycroft looks at him suddenly. “What do you think about all this?”

 

Oliver half-looks at him and offers him a bit of a shrug. “I don’t know.” He thinks about it some more, before he gets out, “Do you love Mum?”

 

Blue eyes meet blue properly, before Mycroft replies, “Yes.”

 

“She’s not sure if she loves you,” Oliver confesses honestly, “Not any more.”

 

“I would not expect her to feel anything else,” Mycroft remarks and Oliver looks at him a little strangely, “Your mother has always been a little slow to confess her feelings.”

 

“Was she slow before?” Oliver asks. 

 

“A little,” Mycroft answers with a faint smile, “I had to help her.”

 

Inside the tent you stir. Your hand scrapes over the tarpaulin canvas and your eyes search for Oliver. When he’s not there you sit up. The tent’s empty. You move automatically towards the open flap, before you still when you hear a soft voice asking, “Your feelings then?” _Mycroft._ You should have known that he’d be there. You don’t even properly know what the future holds for Ed and you yet and already he’s trying to swoop in. 

 

You feel a sudden surge of anger and you’re about to go out there when you hear Oliver blurting out, “It feels like I’ve got two dads.” He sounds like he’s trying to be brave and not show how upset he is about all of this and your heart pangs because that’s another trait that he gets from Mycroft. 

 

“I can understand you feeling in such a way,” Mycroft replies, as he pokes at the fire with the stick again, “I expect that your mother is feeling in a similar fashion.” Oliver looks at him. “She’s too scared by everything to see how she feels for me.”

 

You let out a breath. Mycroft may be worriedly accurate, but you still feel angry again at him reading you, before you’ve even managed to work out things for yourself. More than that you feel angry with him for assuming that you’ve got any romantic feelings towards him at all after he’d just ruined your family. But then your heart sinks because you know that you’ve ruined them just as much. 

 

“She says that she wants to go back home again, live with Samantha and-and him,” Oliver confesses. 

 

Mycroft lets out a bit of a sigh and you crawl closer towards the entrance of the tent, keeping to the side, so that they won’t see you, but peering out of it. You find that Oliver’s sitting to the left of Mycroft and looking at the man who really is his father tentatively, whilst Mycroft seems engrossed in watching the fire. “I wouldn't be able to stop her. If Ed accepted her back then”-

 

“But”-

 

Mycroft looks at his son. “That is not what you want?” he guesses. 

 

Oliver looks away from him and scrunches his face up a little. “I don’t think I get what’s going on, but I don’t think that I want to go back there, not really. I don’t want things to change, but I don’t fit in there. I do know that much.” Feeling pained you draw your head back, twist around, so that you’ve got your back to them and rest your head against the fabric of the tent. 

 

Mycroft’s eyes flicker towards the tent for a moment-he’s sure that he’d just detected some movement there-before he says, “The pair of you would be more than welcome to live with me,” and your heart plummets at him bringing such a thing up. You can’t see the way that Oliver looks at him excitedly and his eyes light up, but you can imagine it and that’s enough. You know in your heart of hearts that, that’s what your son wants and that will seem like a good option to him right now, but you’re not sure that it’s what _you_ want. Mycroft however is obviously having trouble believing in Oliver’s reaction fully and asks him, “Would you like that?”

 

“Of course I would,” Oliver says with barely any hesitation, “You’re my dad.” You miss the way that he looks a little awkward as soon as he’s said such a thing. 

 

“Is that what you wish to call me?” Mycroft enquires. 

 

“I-I don’t know,” Oliver says, looking confused again as he glances away. 

 

You might not be able to see him, but you sense that it’s a good time to intervene and you get out of the tent with a clearing of your throat. 

 

_“Mum!”_ Oliver says in surprise. 

 

“F/N, how nice it is to see you again my dear. I’ve got some sausages here that I could”- 

 

“I don’t want your sausages,” you say a little heatedly, before you blush and clear your throat again when you see how wide Oliver’s eyes have gone and how clearly startled he is by your attitude to Mycroft. You turn your head to look at the man who has disrupted your whole life and ask him more evenly, “Can I have a word?” as you look at him levelly. 

 

“Certainly,” Mycroft bows his head. 

 

Your eyes go to Oliver. “You’ll be all right here by the fire for a moment?” Oliver nods. “Good.” You march across and take Mycroft’s hand forcefully to your son’s further astonishment, before you drag him across to where the trees curve around beside the path that leads to the picnic area. 

 

“My dear,” Mycroft purrs as you let go of him, finding your behaviour most attractive. He takes a step closer to you, so that both of your bodies brush against each other’s as you stand there in front of one of the trees. “One mention of sausages and despite all the years that have gone by and your clear growth of experience in certain areas you’re just as uncertain as you were in my office that night.”

 

“I acted like that because he looked scared of me,” you blurt out, but Mycroft still looks amused. “You think that this is funny?” You fold your arms. “You think that you coming here and managing to ruin everything that its taken me years to build up in a few days is funny?” you hiss, before you remember yourself again and glance anxiously at Oliver. Thankfully he’s got his head turned towards the fire.

 

“No,” Mycroft says and you look back at him, “But I think that you’ll be hard pressed to disagree that it was the right thing to do.” Your mouth opens. “The context in which it came out in was perhaps a regrettable one, but the act itself is what is best for you all.”

 

“You really believe that?”

 

“I take it that you heard at least part of what Oliver and I have been discussing right now?” Mycroft quirks an eyebrow up. You nod. “Then even if you didn't believe me when I said such a thing at the pool you’ll have heard Oliver say just now about how he feels he doesn’t fit in at home.”

 

Your face creases up in pain, “So he’s reached his teenager years a little early”-Mycroft looks at you knowingly and you grow even more defensive-“I don’t think that it was a good idea to say what you did about us moving in with you. He’ll grow out of whatever all this is and”-

 

“You’re in denial, but you want what’s best for him don’t you?” Mycroft asks, grabbing at your wrist loosely and you look back at Oliver. Your heart sighs. He looks so alone. You don’t want him to feel like that any more. Wherever you end up you just want him to feel at ease. You’re not sure that he’ll achieve that by living with Mycroft though. If anything then he’ll probably just end up getting even more hurt. “He clearly wants to get to know me. He clearly _likes_ me”-

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you pull away from Mycroft and look back at him. “He probably just thinks that, that’s what he wants”-

 

“Then why not indulge in that flight of fancy? At least for a little while. After all if things end up the way you seem to think that they will then he’ll grow to dislike me and you’ll end up back with Ed should he accept you.”

 

“Because I don’t want him to get hurt. Like you hurt me. Do you have any idea of how badly I felt? Of how many tears I’ve shed because of you? Do you have any idea at all of how much you’ve hurt me?” you huff, before you move around him and march back to Oliver. 

 

Mycroft looks after you, before he follows you. 

 

You eat the food that Mycroft has brought for you, before you retreat to the tent not long after. You feel like the conversation has been stilted and though you’re loathe to leave Oliver alone with Mycroft because of what he might fill his head with your presence is only making things more difficult for your son. You decide that you’ll let him have a bit of time to talk to Mycroft therefore, whilst you’re still at the camp site. That seems fair and Mycroft might prove a good distraction to him from all the other things that are at stake here. After that though is another matter. You get changed and lie down, letting the soft voices of Mycroft and Oliver lull you to sleep. 

 

*

 

You wake a few hours later to darkness. Feeling better from your sleep, but still thoughtful you fumble for the torch, get dressed, establish that Oliver’s sleeping quietly, drained from the day’s events, give him a quick peck on the forehead and step out of the tent. 

 

By the flash of your torch you see that a red and grey tent has now been erected beside yours. Knowing that it must be Mycroft’s you shake your head. Mycroft Holmes camping. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re not too keen to be particularly close to him right now then you’d be tempted to undo the zip of his tent and peer inside just to see what it looks like. You bet that he’s got everything in an orderly fashion just like the small piles of paperwork that he used to keep all over his desk when you used to work for him. They’d never made sense to you but he’d always known where everything was. You shake your head, dismissing that almost fond thought that had come to you, before you’d been able to help it. Mycroft will not help heal you, you recite in your head, he will only injure you. Look at what he’s done to you already. A few days ago and you hadn’t even seen him for almost ten years. Now in just that short space of time he’s managed to turn your whole world upside down. But, a small voice whispers inside your head, hadn’t he said at the pool that he’s been watching Oliver and you all this time? Keeping an eye on you both? Protecting you in his own silly way? You bite at your lip. Your shoes slap against the wooden jetty, sounding loud in the stillness of the night, before you take both them and your socks off and sit down at the end of it, dangling your feet in the water. Your mind returns to Mycroft and Oliver. You’d watched the pair of them in the time that you’d been out with them tonight intently and you can’t deny that Mycroft had seemed to have a natural affinity with Oliver. Knowing what to say, what to do, how to touch upon the boy’s interests as he speaks and make him smile. You let out a sigh and kick out at the water a little bit. Perhaps Oliver would really be better off living with him after all…

 

“He takes after you too then?” comes a soft voice and you look around with a start to see that Mycroft’s smiling at you softly in the darkness as he pulls both his shoes and socks off. 

 

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know about that,” you shrug. You remember about how Mycroft had spoken with Oliver down by the lake. You think that you must be in the same position that your son had been in then and it makes you smile sadly for a moment, before your face becomes serious again. You look out across the lake, making the light of the torch dance across it as Mycroft comes to sit down beside you. It’s not the only light. There are fireflies and stars out. 

 

Mycroft places a hand over yours to get you to stop your movement with the torch and you look up at him. “Let me help,” he murmurs, letting go of you. You swallow and look out towards the lake. “I understand of course that Oliver comes into this equation of thought right now, that you want to look after him and protect him, but I can’t help but think that this is about you too and that you’re holding off on moving forwards in one particular direction because of something.”

 

“I have to be strong,” you breathe, looking at him, “Not just for Oliver, but for whenever I see Samantha too.” Your heart aches already at the memory of your daughter. You know that its only been a few hours but still you miss her. “I can’t just fall apart or mess around with you or any other guy just because it might make me feel good for a few moments because I need to do what’s best for them. They need to feel safe and like they've got a proper home. I don’t want to be like one of those families who moves about all the time.” You look away again. 

 

“But I’m not just any man,” Mycroft says and your eyes go to him, “I'm Oliver’s father.”

 

You huff out a bit of a breath and look out across the lake. As you kick your legs out again Mycroft’s hand goes to cover yours. His thumb strokes at the back of your hand. “You make it sound like you’ll be happy if we move in with you, like that’s what you want, but I worry that you’d get bored of us and of being a parent within a week. He’s not always going to look at you with wide excited eyes you know”-Mycroft swallows and stiffens-“There’ll be boring bits. Times where he might be difficult or want to argue. Times where he might be upset”- your voice breaks off emotionally. 

 

Mycroft relaxes a little. “I know all that and I wouldn't get bored.”

 

“How do _I_ know that though?” you look at him desperately, “How do I know that one difficult day for you wouldn't make everything change again and lead to Oliver and me having to move out? He needs stability.” You look away from him for a moment, before you look back at him again. “You’re the man who was prepared to have a one-night stand just to get me out of your system.”

 

“And you’re the woman,” Mycroft says, brushing your hair back, “Who was also ready to do such a thing.” You smile in spite of yourself and let out a bit of a watery snort, before you bite upon your lip and hurriedly look away. When you finally get the courage to look at Mycroft again it’s to find that he’s turned even closer towards you and is looking at you with a steady intensity in those blue eyes of his. “Do you want me to tell you what I think this is really about?” he asks, lying you carefully down across the jetty. As your breath hitches in your chest you nod. Mycroft’s face appears above yours. You can feel his body all around you, pressing at you lightly. “This is about the control freak losing control.” Your eyes widen. “All the time that I’ve been here you’ve been frantically trying to cover my presence up. Pretending to your husband that I was really just some stranger, lying about those texts. But you don’t have to keep lying any more to keep the secret in because it’s out.”

 

“I”-

 

“And you don’t have to keep shoving all your past hurt in between us as a barrier either. You know why?” You shake your head and the back of it scrapes against the wood. “Because my dear,” Mycroft says with glimmering eyes, “You can trust me. Trust that I was hurt just as much as you were and that, in the interest of never wanting to feel like that ever again if nothing else, I do not wish to hurt you. Trust that I could not be any more in love with you or our son.” He kisses you. 

 

You let out a fluttery breath and arch up against him. Mycroft lifts you until you come to be in a sitting position, one of your legs bent up against his. As your lips continue to rub against each other’s the little kissing noises that you make sound like the ducks that sometimes occupy the lake. Your hand comes up and your fingers curl around the back of his head, so that you can push him even closer, before they shift there. 

 

Mycroft pulls out of the kiss and leans back. You let out a breath and look up at the sky for a moment. Its navy and the stars suddenly look like beautiful jewels that hang down from a massive invisible chandelier. You let out another breath and look back at Mycroft. 

 

“Trust me,” he murmurs, kissing you briefly again, “Please trust me when I say that I would never deliberately do anything to upset you or our son.” You nod because you’re beginning to believe that and trust your heart with him more. “I could offer you both a good life, a good home in fact. My house is large. There is plenty of space. Oliver could have his pick of the spare rooms and there are enough to ensure that if Samantha came over to stay sometime then she’d be able to have her own room too.”

 

Your head spins a little. It’s hard to see this future where Oliver and you both live with Mycroft and Samantha-happy, joyous Samantha as she has been before and as she will be again-comes to visit and perhaps stay at weekends and during holidays. “A garden?” you murmur without being able to help it. 

 

“A decent sized one with a patio, perfect for barbecues in the summer. Oliver could play outside and explore all that he liked,” Mycroft says consideringly. 

 

Your heart emits a pang. “He likes to read outside,” you say as you remember how he’d often done such a thing at home. You close your eyes. _“Ed…”_ You should not be sitting on this jetty thinking about a possible future with Mycroft no matter how things truly stand because just a short distance away is Ed and he’s upset and heartbroken. 

 

Mycroft lets out a sigh and moves a little away from you. “I can’t tell you or magically convince your heart to stop loving him,” he says, “But I think you surely have to know, even if it’s very deep down F/N, that it is very unlikely that he’ll be able to get over such a thing.” You open your mouth. “I say such a thing not for my own benefit but because I believe it to be true,” he goes on. Your mouth shuts. Mycroft grasps at your hand and holds it between you. “I can however urge you to give me a chance. To say that Oliver and you will at least try living with me and see how it goes.”

 

You swallow again and let out a breath. It hovers in the air for a moment, before it seems to float off into the distance. You look back at Mycroft and nod. “We can give it a go.”

 

Mycroft pecks at your forehead and stands. He offers you his hand and you take it, allowing him to help pull you to your feet. Together, and distinctly more companionably, you both make your way back to the tents. 

 

You stop a little distance away from them. Mycroft however moves forwards and undoes the zip. Sensing that you’re staring at him he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Did you want to come inside?” he asks you. 

 

You start a little. “Not tonight,” you decide, and you feel a distinct wave of relief pass through you at saying such a thing and at making such a decision. 

 

Mycroft looks at you for a moment, knowing that he’s still got some way to go with you, but that it’s vital that he doesn’t rush things if you’re not ready. He disappears back inside his tent. 

 

You head to where Oliver’s still sleeping soundly. 

 

*

 

In the end you only stay at the camp site for a couple more days. In that time Mycroft helps Oliver with his kite, whilst you read by one of the picnic tables, you go for little walks together and Oliver even ventures into the swimming pool once it’s a little quieter at Mycroft’s encouragement. You have to admit that in those days you’re once more grudgingly impressed by Mycroft’s fathering skills. But when you hear that the weather’s supposed to take a turn for the worse again and Mycroft tentatively breaches the idea of you going to live with him a little sooner than had been planned you agree. You've been getting angry text messages and calls from Ed’s sister Sasha-it appears that his whole family now know what you’ve done-and you can’t help but want to face the music and get it all over and done with as soon as possible. You also think that the sooner Oliver can get settled somewhere properly again the better that it will be for him, though he seems to only be excited about getting the chance to see where Mycroft lives and to live with him. 

 

So that’s how you find yourself in the back of one of Mycroft’s black cars that Friday in the middle of Mycroft and Oliver. When they both seem insistent on talking about Ancient Greece with one another though you make the wise decision to ensure that Oliver is in the middle after your next break so that he can talk more easily with his father. You watch how both father and son’s eyes light up as they discuss things and you feel a little stirring of something inside you. Your decision, at least for the moment, seems to be the right one, at least for Oliver, though your heart still aches for Ed and Samantha.


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will you stay with Mycroft or go back to Ed?

You finally make it to London that mid-afternoon with Mycroft now sitting in the middle since Oliver had grown weary of doing so after a while and Mycroft hadn’t wanted you to be uncomfortable for too long. As you pull through the black Gothic gates into a short gravel driveway and see the red brick house that looms just a short distance away and the gleaming white pillars that frame the black door your mouth drops open. Sweeping green lawns lie either side of you along with the odd tree. 

 

 _“Wow,”_ Oliver breathes, almost pressing the side of his face against the window, so that he can look around the front seat and try and see even more. You find yourself doing the same and that you have to agree with your son’s sentiments, but as Mycroft looks at you after winding down the window a little for Oliver you try and wear a composed expression. Mycroft grasps at your hand and gives it a quick squeeze. Despite your supposed nonchalance with the whole thing he looks pleased by your reaction. Oliver continues to peer out of the window, which a soft breeze now drifts through of. You can’t help but feel happy as you look at him and your gaze goes to Mycroft once more. He’s watching Oliver, wearing a tender expression about his face. You let out a little breath and squeeze at his hand. Mycroft looks around at you in surprise, turning his head sharply, before his eyes become gentle once more when he sees that it’s only you and that he’s caused you as much of a fright by moving so quickly as you’ve caused him by touching his hand. 

 

You clear your throat a little. “So much for a decent sized garden,” you let go of him. 

 

“Is it all right?”

 

“It’s _huge,”_ you smile, “A boy could make a thousand dens here and still have room for more.” Again Mycroft looks pleased. 

 

The car swings around the circular blue-grey fountain where water is spurting merrily, before it comes to a stop. 

 

Oliver is the first to scramble out and you find yourself exchanging a fond glance with Mycroft, before you even realize what it is that you’re doing. You look away quickly again, your eyes scanning the lawn and your heart racing. If the inside of this place matches up to its outside then it’s going to be amazing, but you must try and be sensible and not get carried away with it. Mycroft touches at your hand, as if to reassure you that it’s all right to feel the way that you are and you have to admit that it’s ironic for him of all people to be doing such a thing. He gets out of the car. 

 

You follow suit and stare up at the house. It appears to have two floors above the ground floor and this close up it looks even huger. Ivy curves around some of the modernized windows, framing them even more. Your eyes already adore it. 

 

“I have three flats spread out across town, but this is my main abode,” Mycroft informs you as Oliver gazes up at the house in astonishment. He’s never seen such a big house before. You nod distractedly, still gazing up at the house yourself, and Mycroft smiles at you, before he steps towards the door. You grab at Oliver’s hand, sharing a little apprehensive, but excited smile with him without being able to help it, before you follow after Mycroft. Mycroft draws open the door, feeling a little tentative himself and letting out a bit of a breath as he does so, before he allows the both of you to be the first to step inside. Oliver lets go of your hand and takes the lead, entering the black and white tiled entranceway. To the back resides the kitchen. To the right are the dining and sitting rooms, the latter of which has a grand piano, as you’ll find out later and that also has a door in the middle adjoining both rooms. To the left lies a small library and study and in front of you lies a sweeping staircase that goes up to the next floor. The stair carpet is a deep blue. 

 

“Wow,” Oliver murmurs again, taking it all in and gazing at the paintings that hang off the dark wooden panelled walls. You slip your hands onto his shoulders, feeling both excited and tense. 

 

“The house is full of history,” Mycroft says, stepping forward and both Oliver and you look back at him, “It goes back in my family for generations. One day perhaps I shall tell you both all about it”-and you can tell that he’s not daring to hope. You swallow-“But for now I believe that there’s the small matter of where you’re going to sleep?” He looks at Oliver with twinkling eyes and you smile yourself without being able to help it. 

 

Oliver rushes towards the stairs and scrambles up them. He disappears a moment later, but his loud and very excited gasps of exclamation drift down to you. 

 

Mycroft offers you a smile. 

 

“How many bedrooms are there?” you ask as the pair of you begin to drift upstairs too.

 

“Three on both floors. The attic room is my personal favourite though and has got the best view, but we’ll see if young Oliver spots that.” He smiles at you again and as your heart does a little flip you look away. “There is also a bathroom at the end of each floor and a dressing room on the second. You might want to make use of that my dear.” You look at him a little nervously and feel a wriggling of something in your stomach when Mycroft offers you his arm with a challenging quirk of his eyebrow. You swallow and take it. 

 

Mycroft guides you into room after room and you can’t help but feel in awe as you step inside each one. No expense has been spared in any of them. There are no box rooms here and you can’t help but think of your little middle room at home that’s over flowing with junk. You wonder what Mycroft would make of it. He’d probably disapprove because here everything is so pristine and immaculate and beautifully furnished. It oozes sophistication and glamour. 

 

“The attic room,” Mycroft says, stopping at the relevant door. He gestures that you should go through it first. You do so and a small smile forms upon your face as you find that Oliver’s in there, though that soon changes when you see that he’s standing on top of the bed that’s by the window in his socks and staring out at the view in awe. 

 

“Oliver get off the bed,” you say embarrassedly, pointing at the floor. Things are awkward enough without him showing Mycroft just how common a life you’ve both been living these last few years compared to him. 

 

Mycroft places a soothing hand upon your shoulder. “It’s all right,” he says, “He’s only excited.” You swallow. 

 

“Mum please can I have this room? Please?” Oliver turns towards you imploringly. 

 

“I don’t know Oliver,” you say, looking around. The room’s a little small, there are certainly bigger ones elsewhere, and the furniture is only very basic with a chest of drawers and a bedside lamp by the bed and a wardrobe that’s close to the foot of it. Oliver looks at you disappointedly. “It’s a little cold,” you elaborate. 

 

“But its got the best view and there’s even a window on the ceiling”-you glance up to see the black framed slanting window-“I’ll be able to see the stars, before I go to sleep.”

 

Your heart aches at the thought of Oliver being able to do something so beautiful and you make a bit of an uncertain sound and glance at Mycroft as you begin to crumble. “There’s a fully operational fire place,” he informs you, “The house might be old, but its capable of getting very warm I assure you. As for all the old furniture they can be replaced with newer versions if Oliver does not find them suitable.”

 

You swallow and look back at Oliver. “Okay.”

 

 _“Yes!”_ Oliver does a little jump in excitement and punches the air. The bed creaks beneath him. “Can we get a dog?” he says as soon as he lands.

 

Mycroft looks momentarily alarmed, but he soon chuckles when you warn, “Don’t push it,” and point a finger at your son. “Get off that bed please. You shouldn't be on it in the first place.” Oliver gives you a little frown, before he recklessly jumps off, causing your heart to lift in worry, “You’ll have to get your things in and bring them up here,” you say, your fingers going to his hair, so that you can reassure yourself that he’s all right. 

 

Oliver jerks back from you. “I’ll do that later.” He looks outside again. “Can I”-

 

“You can do it _now,”_ you tell him and Oliver pulls a face. “No exploring the garden until everything’s up here, you’ve unpacked and put it all away neatly. I’ll be checking to make sure,” you point at him. Oliver’s body slumps as if you’re being the worst mum in the world right now and he walks miserably out of the room, before he goes back downstairs again. 

 

Mycroft lets out another amused chuckle, whilst you release a breath. “Come my dear, let me make you a cup of tea.” You smile a little and adjust your hair, tightening your ponytail. He links your arms once more and steers you downstairs. “You really are very tough on him you know?”

 

You let out a bit of a sigh. “Ed was always the soft one in our house.”

 

Mycroft peers down at you a little awkwardly, “Yes, well. I expect that you’ll still be in charge,” he smiles a little clumsily at you and you give him a bit of a tight one in return. Mycroft clears his throat. “In any case it must be very exciting for Oliver, getting a new place to live.”

 

You, with your head half-turned towards him feel a trickle of uneasiness, but you don’t say a word. 

 

When he’s getting the tea things sorted out though and you’re gazing in awe at the gleaming black counter tops and at the section of garden that you can see through the transparent sliding door at the back of the house you murmur, “Such a big place”-you look at him as he pops two tea bags into a cup on the other side of the counter just a short distance away-“Haven’t you ever gotten lonely inside of it?”

 

Mycroft looks at you and you suddenly realize that it might have been the wrong thing to ask. 

 

All of a sudden Oliver bursts in, and you swing away from Mycroft so that you can look at him. “Mum I’ve taken everything up.”

 

“I said unpack them Oliver,” you get out automatically, but then, just as you’re starting to look away to roll your eyes in exasperation your gaze catches upon Mycroft. He’s looking at Oliver again and there’s both a light and softness about him. You suddenly realize that if Mycroft _had_ been lonely then he’s not any more and you feel a pang. Up until now you’d managed to convince yourself that although moving in here probably wouldn't much help your situation with Ed it would be the right thing to do because at least it would give Oliver a chance to get to know his actual father. But that had just been a short-term plan and of course, eventually, in the future, after several difficult long conversations in which you’d finally made Ed realize that you hadn’t been cheating on him for years, you’d seen yourselves going back to live with him and Samantha. You hadn’t thought about how doing such a thing would truly effect Mycroft though. You’d just kept at the surface of it all and thought that if Mycroft’s been able to live without Oliver for all these years then he’d surely be able to do so again. It’s only now that you sense how emotionally invested Mycroft has already become in all of this and that you realize that you’re going to have to be more careful than ever in how you proceed, so that you can try and not hurt any one more than you already have. As Oliver rushes off again and Mycroft looks back at you, you approach him slowly and place your hands delicately upon his shoulders, turning him towards you. Mycroft looks at you a little in surprise at the contact, before his hands go automatically to your waist. They tighten there. “I'm sorry,” you murmur, before you pull away again. 

 

Mycroft nods, both glad and not so that you seem to understand some of how previously isolated he’s been feeling. He clears his throat as he turns back to the cups. “I thought that perhaps Oliver and you could go and see my mother on Sunday.” You keep your gaze on him. “I’ll be going with my brother to see her tomorrow afternoon, but I thought that you could use that time to settle in. That’s all I'm afraid I can give you though. I don’t wish to rush you, but if Sunday would be appropriate then I’d really be most grateful. I don’t know how much time she has left.” 

 

You move closer and peer up at him. “Is she really that ill?” you ask. Mycroft looks at you and not wanting him to think that you believe that he’s been lying and brought you here under false pretences all this time you hurriedly go on, “I know that she’s got cancer, and that it’s terminal, but”- you break off awkwardly, before you try and smooth over Mycroft’s furrowed brow when you attempt to explain, “I’ll have to tell Oliver something and he’ll probably be full of questions. I’d rather that he asked them now than when we’re with your mother.” 

 

Mycroft’s face clears a little now he knows that you’re not attacking him. He pours the tea and lets it brew. “She’s weak, frail. She spends most of her time in bed. It’s hard for her to even get out of it. She’s got this dreadful cough”- he looks away again. 

 

“Mycroft I'm sorry,” you put a hand upon his shoulder. 

 

“It’s all right,” he nods, “It will be all right as long as Oliver and you get to see her”-

 

“You must have been so worried about her in this past week,” you slip your hand away. “I'm sorry that I didn't try and give you a chance before, so that you could have been brought back to her earlier. It was just so difficult for me and it’s still all rather complicated.” 

 

“It is,” Mycroft acknowledges gravely, “And I was,” he concurs, “But I had Sherlock updating me and”-a strange little smile appears on his face and he seems to look at a spot that’s just behind you-“I’ve had other things to think about in more depth than I would usually get the chance to.” Your lips part. “Oliver and you,” Mycroft elaborates and your mouth closes. You swallow. “That’s been nice in one sense, though I did worry that you might not even make it this far with me.” You feel another pang inside your chest and as you look at him you honestly don’t know what you’re going to do. How can you possibly go back to Ed without hurting Mycroft’s feelings? “Do you like the house?” Mycroft asks suddenly, and you know that your more thoughtful expression has no doubt provoked his worry. 

 

“It’s like an echo to the past, it’s really nice”-

 

“But it’s modern enough?”

 

You nod. “It’s really nice,” you repeat. 

 

“But it’s not home?” Mycroft’s face falls. 

 

You let out a bit of a sigh. You can’t even pretend that it will be someday. “I'm sorry.” You look down. 

 

Mycroft nods.

 

*

 

Oliver heads to bed a little early that night, tired out from the day and all the excitement of the house, and you decide to head up not long after. Every time you look at Mycroft and feel the warmth of his kind hospitality and how much he wants all of this you feel guilt and you’re keen to get away from him. To your chagrin though Mycroft decides to carry your bag up for you and walk beside you. 

 

“You’d rather have one of the spare rooms for now?” he asks as you head towards the staircase that will lead up to the second floor. 

 

You stop and look at him a little levelly. “Yes, I think that would be best.”

 

Mycroft nods and tries to cover up his disappointment by asking, “Which one have you got your eye on?”

 

“I think that I’d like the one that’s closest to Oliver’s room. It’s a decent size, but not too big,” you tell him and Mycroft nods, understanding that you want to be close to your son. 

 

“In that situation my room will be just beneath yours”- Mycroft begins to inform you. 

 

“I know. I remember where it is. You told me earlier when you showed me around,” you remind him a little curtly and Mycroft gives you another nod. You don’t want him telling you how close he’ll be to you. Don’t want to picture him on the floor just beneath yours, lying awake in the middle of the night. Don’t want to pity him and struggle any more than you already do and are. 

 

*

 

You spend much of that night though and a great portion of the next day in fact drifting about the house like a ghost and thinking about the future. This is something that you particularly do when Mycroft goes out and you don’t have to feel his searching eyes upon you any more. Whilst Oliver plays in the garden you think and think. That night though when you go to Oliver’s room to kiss him goodnight you sit on his new bed and linger a little, knowing that you need to try and explain about Mrs. Holmes. 

 

“Aren't the stars pretty Mum?” Oliver asks, slouched against the headboard as he gazes past you through the slanting window. 

 

You turn your head to look at them distractedly for a moment. “Mmm.” You look back at Oliver. “You noticed that Mycroft went out earlier?” you ask. 

 

He nods. “He said something about going to see his mother?”

 

You nod. “She’s your grandmother you know?” you remind him, stroking at his hand, which falls over the top of the white duvet. “Tomorrow,” you begin tentatively, “Mycroft wants us to go and see her.” Oliver opens his mouth as if it’s both a little early and frightening to be considering such things. Suddenly you see this portal in his mind opening up as he realizes that he has a wider new family now beyond Mycroft. You withdraw your hand and look down. “You see Oll”-

 

“Oliver.”

 

“She’s not very well.”

 

“What’s wrong with her?” Oliver asks in a strangled voice and you look back up at him. You see that fear of loss upon his face and it makes something shake inside you even though you don’t know Mrs. Holmes. 

 

“She’s got lung cancer darling. You know what that is?” Oliver nods. “She’s very poorly, but she’d love to meet you. That’s why we need to go.”

 

Again Oliver nods, but he asks, “What about my other grandparents?”

 

“They’ll still love you very much and want to see you I’m sure.”

 

“I feel like I have two of everything.”

 

“Noah’s Ark,” you breathe, rubbing at his hand again. Oliver smiles crookedly. “I know that it’s a little strange and confusing,” you tell him, “But I also think that perhaps something good can come out of it. Think of all the wonderful people that you’ve got around you now who all love you.” 

 

“Samantha would love this house,” Oliver blurts out and you feel that now familiar pang for your daughter. 

 

You place a soothing hand across his forehead and through his hair. “You’ll see her again darling,” you tell him. A lump grows in Oliver’s throat and he looks down, before he nods. “I’m sure that one day you’ll be showing her around this house just like Mycroft showed us around yesterday. You’ll have to make a list of all the things you notice and love, so that you can remember everything that you want to show her all right?”

 

“I don’t need to make a list, it’s all in here,” Oliver taps at his head. You snort and weave a fond hand through his hair. So much like his father.

 

“Goodnight darling,” you murmur, kissing him on the forehead, before you withdraw again. 

 

“Night Mum,” he says just before you switch the light off.

 

*

 

“I told my parents and brother about Oliver and you today,” Mycroft murmurs when you return downstairs to the sitting room and take the blue armchair opposite where his is by the fireplace. The black gleaming grand piano stands a little to your right and just behind you. You chew on your lip for a moment and look at him uncertainly, as you wonder how that conversation had played out. “It was a bit of a shock.”

 

“That seems like an understatement,” you say, relaxing a little automatically at Mycroft being deliberately delicate about it all. 

 

Mycroft smiles at you a little sheepishly, tilts his head sideways and runs his hand through his hair for a moment, before he lowers it again and confesses, “Mummy got a little angry with me actually for keeping it a secret for all these years. She said that clearly I hadn’t been doing right by you both and that I should try and do better. I told her that I'm trying now.” You swallow and duck your head as his gaze grows even more intent. “She’s looking forward to meeting you though, as are Father and Sherlock,” Mycroft says and you look at him, only to glance quickly away again when you see how hopeful his eyes are about all of this working out.

 

*

 

You feel nervous as you sit there that following morning on the way to the care home. You’re anxious that Mycroft’s parents might be posh and not take to your normality, but you also feel worried about what Oliver might do or say. You don’t want him inadvertently upsetting Mycroft’s mother if he starts asking lots of questions. 

 

Mycroft seems to understand how you’re feeling though and he spends a lot of the car journey grasping and squeezing at your hand. When the car trundles off into a turning on the outskirts of London into a short driveway and parks up on the yellow-white gravel beside the brown and white building with its neatly trimmed lawns and bushes Mycroft grasps at your shoulder and starts to head towards it. 

 

There’s a few other cars parked up and at the anticipation of perhaps encountering more people than you’d even expected inside you warn, “Be good Olls.” Oliver gives you a bit of a look at you calling him that. “I mean it,” you tell him. You don’t want him to do anything to embarrass you today. This visit will be awkward enough as it is. 

 

Mycroft makes a soothing noise and steers you both through the dark brown and white door. “Now,” he says once you’re in the green walled reception area that has wooden pin boards with various posters and messages on them scattered all around. You both turn towards him, “My mother has both her good and bad days. I hope that today will be a good one, but I must warn you both that she can be a little irritable on her bad ones. She doesn’t mean to be,” he hurriedly adds when Oliver suddenly wears a look of alarm, “But that’s just the way that it is.”

 

“Be respectful,” you look at your son. 

 

Oliver turns his head a little moodily off to the side. You open your mouth to reprimand him, but before you can a voice says, “Ah, this must be the secret family that you’ve been hiding from us all these years brother mine.”

 

Your hand automatically goes to your son’s shoulder as you both swivel around. A tall man with dark curly hair stands there in a black suit and white shirt. His multi-coloured eyes seem to pierce you and they momentarily take your breath away. 

 

“F/N, Oliver,” Mycroft says with a bit of an edge to his tone as he places a hand upon your shoulder, “This is my brother Sherlock.” 

 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say, shaking his hand briefly. 

 

“Does that mean you’re my Uncle?” Oliver pipes up. 

 

“Yes,” Sherlock replies, before he asks him abruptly, “Tell me, do you like crime scenes Oliver?” Your lips part. 

 

“Are you like a detective?” Oliver says excitedly. 

 

“I'm not like anything. I'm the world’s _only_ consulting detective,” Sherlock tells the boy proudly. 

 

“What does that”-

 

“No,” Mycroft says firmly, looking at Sherlock, “You are not to get him mixed up in your life. We are here to see Mummy.”

 

“It means that when the police need help solving a crime, which they always do, then they get me involved,” Sherlock says, answering Oliver’s question and ignoring Mycroft completely. 

 

“Cool,” Oliver says as you all begin to move off to a door lined corridor with a brown wooden floor and white walls that’s on the right, “Can I”-

 

“Oliver,” you cut off your son warningly, and he looks back at you from where he’s now walking alongside Sherlock with a bit of a frown upon his face, “Remember where you are please.”

 

Oliver gives you a bit of a jerky nod, before he goes back to talking to his Uncle straight away. You look at them both with misgivings in your eyes. 

 

“Actually,” Mycroft murmurs, his head close to your ear as he takes your hand, “It might be a good thing for him to be distracted.” You look at him and when you realize that he feels such a thing because of how ill his mother is you twist your hand, so that it comes to be on top of his. You stroke at it. Mycroft swallows. Sherlock and Oliver come to a sudden abrupt stop by a door that’s halfway down the corridor and Sherlock makes to push it open without hesitation, but Mycroft says, “Wait.” Sherlock’s hand falters and everyone’s eyes go to look at Mycroft. Mycroft pulls his hand away from yours when he sees his brother’s eyes noticing that they are linked and clears his throat. “I think it might be best if Sherlock and I go in first.” He looks at you and you nod. 

 

“See you in a minute then,” is what Sherlock mutters, before he disappears inside. Mycroft moves around you and gives a quick, reassuring squeeze to Oliver’s shoulder, before he follows after his brother. 

 

Letting out a little breath you take your position in front of the black door, facing in. Through the narrow window in the door you can see an older man getting up from a red chair. Mycroft hugs him and shares a brief word and you presume that it must be his father and that his mother’s bed is hidden off to your left. Oliver comes to stand beside you. “Don’t embarrass me Olls and don’t ask too many questions. In fact don’t ask _any,_ I can explain anything that you want to know later,” you get out firmly. 

 

Oliver lets out an indignant huff of breath, but before he can say anything Mycroft’s opening the door again. Oliver looks up at him keenly and Mycroft offers the boy a bit of a tight smile, before he looks at you. “I’ll take Oliver to see her first and then nod when I want you to enter,” he tells you. You swallow and then let him gently pull Oliver inside. You hear a rather excited, raspy exclamation, before the door closes again. Your heart begins to pound. You start to picture Oliver acting foolishly, being too blunt and making Mycroft’s parents feel dismayed. It doesn’t help that Mycroft’s back is blocking you from seeing what’s going on either. You can’t know that he’s deliberately done such a thing, so that when you come in and see that everything’s all right you might realize that he can be trusted with Oliver and that nothing bad is going to happen when he’s in his care. Finally he looks over his shoulder at you and gives you a curt nod. Realizing that your throat has gone very dry you swallow a couple of times, before you push the door open with clumsy fingers. Your eyes instantly go to seek out Oliver. You find that the red bow tie, grey cardigan wearing man who must be Mycroft’s father has got a hand upon his shoulder as they stand there on the other side of the bed. You then notice that Sherlock is standing protectively by the head of the bed and then, just as your eyes go to the tiny and frail lady who’s half sitting up in bed in her pale blue nightgown and dark blue and white bandanna Mycroft’s hand twists to take yours and pull you forwards. “This is F/N L/N Mummy, Oliver’s mother.”

 

The older woman’s eyes come to fix on yours and you find yourself moving forwards automatically. Mycroft keeps a hold of your hand for as long as he possibly can, before he lets go of it, so that he can remain in the same position. You reach the head of the bed feeling like everyone’s eyes are on you, which they are. “Mrs. Holmes,” you say, your hand inching to where hers are resting on top of the bed cover. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I just wish your health was better.” 

 

“Violet please and call my husband Edwin,” she urges, before she lets out a bit of a hacking cough that has Oliver jumping and Edwin’s hand steadying the boy’s shoulders. Violet’s hands go around yours when she sees that you are as similarly frightened as your son had been. “I don’t know why Mycroft had to bring you in one by one when we've waited long enough to see each other as it is,” she tries to joke as one of her hands goes up to fidget by her mouth and you smile, “But make an honest man out of him won’t you? Marry him,” she urges. 

 

Mycroft and you exchange an awkward look with one another. “As I disclosed to you yesterday Mummy the situation is a rather complicated one and F/N currently finds herself already married,” Mycroft says in a low voice. You swallow and shift your position. 

 

Oliver, not knowing what to make of the idea of Mycroft and you getting married, blurts out, “Why are you wearing a bandanna?”

 

 _“Oliver!”_ you hiss, feeling mortified, but Violet pats reassuringly at your hand and looks at her grandson understandingly. 

 

No one aside from Sherlock though seems to know how to answer the boy’s question. “It’s because Mummy used to be a pirate,” he says, and everyone relaxes and lets out a bit of a chuckle. 

 

Violet’s laughter soon turns into a cough though and Mycroft moves to pour her a drink of water. You keep your position by the side of the bed and watch as Sherlock delicately steps aside and Mycroft gently helps his mother to sit up properly, before he helps her drink some of the water. You know that it’s his mother, and that perhaps he would not do what he is now for just anyone, but as you watch the tenderness that is passing between mother and son it strikes you even more just how caring Mycroft’s capable of being and your heart softens. As if he senses such a thing his blue eyes dart to your e/c ones for a moment and you swallow, before he looks away again. 

 

*

 

Your resistance to this whole new venture and your desire to go home creeps back up again though in the course of that following week. Since Mycroft and you are back at work Oliver is looked after by a babysitter. Leaving Oliver with a stranger had not been part of the plan, although if you’d realistically considered everything then it would have been, and it makes you feel uneasy, but Mycroft seems adamant that the woman-Lily Jennings-comes from a reputable company and that she can be trusted, so you in turn try and push your reluctance aside and trust him. She seems nice enough too with fiery ginger hair that swoops over her shoulder, blue-green eyes and a pretty smile and Oliver doesn’t seem to have any complaints about her either, which is the main thing, but still you can’t get this niggling feeling out of your head that you’re doing wrong as a mother. You try and probe more, asking Oliver what she does with him throughout the day over dinner one night and you can tell from the way that Mycroft raises his eyebrows at you as he chews on his food that he thinks that you’re overreacting. Oliver just gives you a bit of a shrug and a vague answer and you come away from the brief conversation feeling like the babysitter mainly lets him get on with it. Indeed it seems like he’s been entertaining himself on the whole if the way that you’ve come back from work a few times to find that he’s taken one of the books from Mycroft’s library outside to read is anything to go by. Mycroft again attempts to tell you that you have nothing to worry about. Lily has been checked by his security, even quadruple checked, because he knows the hell that there would be to pay if anything ever happened Oliver. He even reminds you that Ed and you had gotten a babysitter during the holidays in the past, again reminding you of how much he’s been secretly watching you, and that you’d learnt to trust them just as you’ll now have to learn to trust Lily. As true as that is though you can’t help but feel like he doesn’t understand the depth of your thoughts because both Oliver and Samantha had been together then. They’d both been able to look out for one another and bond if the babysitter had been particularly strict that day. Now that it is just Oliver you worry that the days must seem long for him, that he must be lonely without people of a similar age around him, and you have similar concerns for Samantha who’s much more openly emotional about all of these things. Is she struggling without you? God knows you miss her. It feels like there’s a hole in your heart. You've tried to phone Ed, so that you could try and speak to the both of them, but each time you had you hadn’t gotten a reply. You picture both Ed and Samantha drifting about the house looking miserable and your heart aches once more. As the week goes on that ache and your want to go home only increases even more. For you know that Oliver can only borrow so many books from Mycroft’s collection and read for so long, before he’ll get bored. He might be Mycroft’s son and an inquisitive little boy, but he’s also an eight-year-old. If nothing else then you know that you need to go home, so that you can properly collect your things and provide Oliver with more entertainment than he has at the moment. Mycroft’s offered to replace everything that you’d once had, but you’d declined. You want to go home. You want to go home because you hope in your most secret of hearts that it might lead on to Ed and you talking more calmly and being able to resolve all of this. You may be softening a little around Mycroft, how can you not be when you see someone who’s usually so stern and upright talking softly to your son, crouched down to his level? But you can’t help but think that your previous life with Ed on the whole offers more stability for him. You do not want Oliver any where near a crime scene. Besides, Oliver is better off with his sister isn't he? Mycroft might be his biological father but the fact is that Oliver’s spent most of his life living with Ed. If the situation had been different and Mycroft and you had gotten your acts together, before Oliver had even been born then of course things would be different. You wouldn't even be considering taking him away from Mycroft right now, but you just think that it’s too late now and that Oliver’s better off where he had been. Whilst if Ed could just find it inside himself to accept Oliver and treat him as he always had done until recently then you’re sure that things could be good again between you all. Of course you feel a pang for Mycroft, and you’ve spent time agonizing over how not to hurt him, before you’d finally concluded that you really couldn't if you left. The best way you’ve thought of though is to allow him as much access to Oliver as he wants, even if it means you having to take Oliver to meet him somewhere because you’re pretty sure that Ed wouldn't want Mycroft any where near the house and hope that will be enough. After all you’ve noticed that Mycroft seems torn between his duties at work and wanting to be at home with Oliver this past week, so if he didn't have that option and Oliver and you weren’t living with him any more then he’d probably feel calmer and less stressed. At least that’s what you keep telling yourself. 

 

Quite honestly though even though you’re three-quarters sure that, that is the right thing to be wishing for you do have doubts, both about Mycroft truly being satisfied with the resolution and about Ed being able to take you back. That Thursday night as you sit on top of Oliver’s duvet and talk to him when he’s in bed you ask, “Oliver, are you happy here?” to try and gage his opinion on everything and feel more in your heart that you’ve got the right intentions for the future. Oliver had been smiling, but as soon as you ask him that his face turns more serious and he looks off to the side. You feel guilty for making his expression change so rapidly even if it’s for a good cause. “Sweetheart?” you push, clutching at where his hand is just over the top of the duvet. 

 

Slowly he looks back at you. “Yes.” 

 

“You don’t miss Ed and Samantha?” 

 

“Of course I do,” your son replies curtly. 

 

“You don’t mind living here though?”

 

Oliver looks at you suspiciously. “Why? It’s not like we can go home is it?” 

 

You stroke at his hand and bite at your lip. “Well,” you begin tentatively, “If you really wanted to go home sweetheart then I’d try my hardest to make that happen for you. Quite honestly though I’ve been thinking that we should go home as soon as we can anyway just to get a few more clothes and things.” Oliver looks down. “What would you think about going back there?”

 

Mycroft’s breath catches in his chest from where he’s just outside the door out of sight with his back against the wall as he waits to hear Oliver’s answer. 

 

“I don’t want to go back there,” comes the boy’s response and Mycroft lets out a little breath of relief that gets smothered by your own disappointed one. “I mean I want to see Ed and Samantha again,” Oliver tries and your heart pangs at him not calling Ed, ‘Dad.’ This is the first time he hasn’t done so. “I don’t mind visiting, but I prefer it here.”

 

“You’re not lonely Oliver?”

 

“Less so than I was at home,” the boy replies honestly. 

 

You doubt him though. “Are you sure?” you ask, wondering how that can be true.

 

Oliver nods. “Besides,” he says, fidgeting with his hands, “What about Mycroft?”

 

You let out a little breath, but you try and end the topic of conversation completely when you say, “Goodnight sweetheart.” Feeling unsatisfied with your behaviour more than anything else Mycroft retreats downstairs. You make to stand up and move away, but Oliver grabs at your arm. 

 

“Mum?” You look at him. “We’re not going to move again are we?” he asks worriedly. “I like it here. I want to stay with Mycroft.”

 

“You could still see him sweetheart, even if we did move. I wouldn't stop”-

 

 _“No!”_ Oliver blurts out fearfully, before he gets out of bed with huge, wide eyes. 

 

 _“Oliver”-_ you say, but he moves past you only wearing his autumn coloured pyjamas. In the next moment he scurries downstairs and you hurry after him. 

 

After ducking into a couple of rooms without much success Oliver finally finds Mycroft sitting at the end of the long dining room with knights of armour standing in the corners either side of him. He seems troubled as his hands curl around a cup of tea that he’d made earlier before he’d gone up to check on what you’d been saying to Oliver. The tea’s almost cold now. At the disturbance Mycroft looks up and his lips part a little when he sees Oliver coming towards him as if he’s running for his life and you frantically trying to catch up with him, your hair flying in a wave by the side of your face. Knowing that it’s too late you slow down, but still the boy comes. 

 

“She wants to move away!” Oliver yells as Mycroft pushes the cup of tea aside and swings to the side of his chair. Before he can stand up though Oliver’s flung his arms around his shoulders and murmured in a panicked fashion, “I don’t want to go away. I want to stay with you.” 

 

“Shh,” Mycroft pulls the boy around so that he’s half-sitting upon his lap with both legs slightly bent. He wraps his arms around his middle. Oliver sniffs and attempts to dart a hand underneath his glasses, so that he can wipe his tears away. He hiccups. “There’s no need for all this noise,” Mycroft says with his head close to the boy’s ear. “You should be in bed dreaming of pleasant things right now. There’s no need to worry.”

 

“B-But”- Oliver says, his body shuddering a little. 

 

“Shh,” Mycroft croons, twisting the boy around again and stroking at his back as Oliver lets his tears out against his shoulder. Mycroft’s eyes dart to you and you swallow because the look he’s got on his face is dark, disapproving and eerily similar to the one that Ed had worn when he’d told you to look at what you’d done to Oliver and Samantha back at the hotel. “No one’s going to separate us. Not any more,” Mycroft says, turning his head towards Oliver and tucking it close. Your lips part and Mycroft’s eyes catch at yours again. Before you can speak however Mycroft says, “Come, let me take you back to bed.” Oliver pulls away from him with a nod and a sniff and Mycroft stands and takes the boy’s hand, before he leads him past you and out of the room. 

 

Swallowing again you take a seat at the opposite end of the table where Mycroft had been sitting by and wait. 

 

Mycroft returns shortly after with the words, “He got off during the third chapter of _Robinson Crusoe.”_

 

You swallow and twist your head to look up at him as he comes to stand beside you and peers down at you steadily. “I'm not sure if you should be encouraging the more adventurous side of him. I don’t want him getting ideas into his head.”

 

“If it’s all the same to you then he needed to be distracted,” Mycroft says, and there’s a bit of bite to his tone. He turns his back on you and begins to make his way further down the table. “I must confess myself disappointed that you’re still trying to keep my son from me.”

 

“I'm not trying to keep anyone from anyone,” you say, standing up and moving to the side of the table. Mycroft turns around to face you with his features making up a calculating expression. “You’d still have access.” 

 

“Oh thank you,” Mycroft scoffs, “For that crumb that you’re throwing me.”

 

“I'm just trying to do what’s right,” you protest. 

 

“Right?” Mycroft asks, _“Right?”_ He looks to either side and waves his hands in an exasperated fashion for a moment, before he looks back at you. “For all your talk about stability the greatest threat to that boy right now is _you”-_

 

 _“Me?_ What about you working all the time? He probably thought that you were going to be there for him a lot more, but you don’t even have time for a son”-Mycroft opens his mouth angrily-“I know that you’ve been trying,” you go on, before he can say anything. “But look around,” you wave your hands, “At those stupid knights of armour for a start.” Mycroft’s mouth opens even wider. “This house is old. It’s not meant for a child. It’s meant for servants and”-

 

“You’re the only one who’s hurting him,” Mycroft says stubbornly, knowing that you’re just trying to get at him still because you’re in denial about everything. Your shoulders slump a little because the rage in his face makes you start to face the truth and you look off to the side, not being able to cope with it. Your brain seems to be swimming in confusion, torn between what you think is right, the silly things your heart does every time you catch Mycroft having a softer moment and the reality of the situation. Mycroft seems determined to remind you of the latter for he says, “You need to get it in your head F/N,” as he points a finger at you, “Living with Ed is not an option for you, not any more”-

 

“Yeah and whose fault is that?” you exclaim angrily. 

 

“It’s your own fault for lying to him all these years,” Mycroft retorts coolly, lowering his hand, “Though I suppose it’s partly mine for pushing Ed in front of you in the first place.” Your lips part. “But then I never expected that this would all occur and that I’d have to break the rule that I’d put in place.” He runs his hand through his hair frustratedly. You look at him as your heart beats unevenly. “I knew,” Mycroft sighs, “That even if you did not want me both our child and you would be better off being part of a more stable family unit, so I did a bit of research. I picked someone local who resembled me and who was suitable. I then sent them an invitation to the flat that you lived in at the time saying that you were an old university friend of theirs and wanting to catch up. Despite not being the most sociable of types I knew that he’d go out of curiosity. I also knew that as soon as he saw you he would not want to leave despite the lie”-your head may be spinning and your anger building inside you, but your breath hitches in spite of yourself-“I knew no matter how vulnerable you were feeling at the time that you would accept him because he was”-

 

“Everything that I needed,” you get out, your knees nearly giving way, and as you clutch onto the table for support you go to sit down again. “I can’t believe you did that. What a mess,” you breathe. 

 

“Yes,” Mycroft approaches you with an odd little expression about his face, “Forgive me. I did not want to tell you before because I know you think that what you feel for Ed is love”-

 

“It _is_ love,” you choke out, before you point a finger at him as you go on, “No matter what you did, no matter that you’re the reason that I met him, I still fell in love with him. I'm still _in_ love with him right now.” _‘Aren't I?’_ You wonder. You know that you’d felt a surge of hope inside yourself when you’d first met Ed, and you resent Mycroft for being the one who had given you that now. You know at first that you’d been stupid and scared and that you’d jumped at the opportunity to try and get Ed to stay and be a part of your life, so that you didn't have to do this whole baby thing on your own. You’d known that lots of people become mothers at a far younger age, but you hadn’t expected to become one at twenty-five. You’d still felt so young and inexperienced in the world. That’s why you’d felt as if you’d needed someone else to help teach your child about the world. You’d truly thought though, truly believed that after a time you’d fallen in love with Ed, but what if you’ve just tricked yourself all this time? What if you’d only been in love with the idea that Ed had provided you with? The idea that you had a partner, a husband to share your day and yourself with when you came home from work? Someone who was there for the children? There for you? You let out a bit of a strangled sound. You feel sick. 

 

“I thought that I was doing what was right at the time,” Mycroft crouches beside you, “But now I think that it was the wrong thing for both of us. It only helped cover up the fact that your feelings were still strong for me, whilst the similarity that I share with him in looks only made my heart ache even more when I saw him playing with Oliver. Inside we have both been suffering all these years.” He cups his hands with yours, but you pull away because his words have only opened up a wound inside you. A wound where all those forced smiles that you’ve given Ed over the years come to the forefront, a wound where you remember how your heart had ached and longed for something more late at night and where you’d shed all those silent tears. Your breath hitches. You shake your head. You feel afraid. You feel like the past few years have been a lie. You swing around and stand up on the other side of your chair. “Why can’t you see it?” Mycroft asks. 

 

You turn back around to face him with tears on your face so that you can offer him a brave smile and the words, “I'm going to try and go home soon,” because though you _can_ see it you don’t want to admit to it just yet. Mycroft’s face falls even more. “I'm sorry, but even if I don’t get to go back at first I think that’s what I need to work towards,” and with that, whilst something trembles inside you, you hurry upstairs. 

 

Mycroft stares after you, knowing that you’re trying to stick to the same path because you’re stubborn and his words have scared you, but hoping that once you’ve thought about it some more you’ll be able to see sense and stop using other things as an excuse. 

 

As soon as you get to your room and close the door behind you, you dig your mobile out and try and call Ed. 

 

To your surprise for once he answers. “Hello?”-

 

“Ed it’s me”-

 

“F/N”- Ed’s voice stiffens, before he informs you, “I thought that it was you. You need to stop calling. It’s disruptive to Samantha’s life”-and you know then without him even saying anything that Samantha’s been missing you and asking for you and wondering each time the phone goes whether it’s you or not at the other end and that Ed’s at his wits end trying to cope with it all-“I don’t want to hear from you.”

 

“Ed I want to see you”-

 

“The only reason I’d want to see you again is if it involves you coming around to pick up Oliver’s and your things. Do you want to do that?”-

 

“I”-

 

“Saturday at ten. If you’re late or don’t come then they’ll be going out with the rubbish next week. I need them and you out of my life.”

 

“Ed”-

 

Ed promptly hangs the phone up, before you can say another word. 

 

*

 

“I expect that you’ll both be back this afternoon by the latest,” Mycroft says that Saturday morning just before Oliver and you leave. He sounds on edge. 

 

Oliver and you both nod. You tentatively and Oliver uncertainly, before you troop outside and get inside the black car that Mycroft has procured for the occasion. You can feel Mycroft watching from the window and as you look at him your eyes only meet for a moment, before he nods and moves away again. 

 

Once you’ve both slipped your seatbelts on and the car’s begun to move off you look at Oliver and say, “You excited about going home?” Oliver lets out a grunt and looks off to the side. You swallow, still feeling unsure as to whether this is the best thing or not. 

 

*

 

You pull up at the brown town-house that you’ve spent the best part of ten years in and it’s odd how suddenly strange it feels. It does feel good though. You’re not sure how Ed’s going to be, but you get out of the car with a determined kind of enthusiasm all the same. You’re about to close the door when you realize that Oliver hasn’t even taken his seatbelt off yet. You turn back around properly and duck your head back down. “Come on Oliver,” you urge. Oliver huffs out a breath, before he slouches out of the car. “Honestly,” you look at him, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you sometimes. I thought you’d be happy to be home?” 

 

“Only it’s not”- Oliver begins as he closes the car door behind him. 

 

 _“Mummy!”_ a cry from a very familiar and much missed voice comes and you swivel towards the tiny driveway to see that Samantha is running towards you, her eyes full of excitement. The red front door is flung open behind her. 

 

“Darling,” you say, your face breaking out in relief as you crouch down and take her in your arms. She seems to have grown already. You breathe her in. Her h/c hair smells like strawberries and she’s wearing a light pink dress today. 

 

When you finally pull away from one another she goes across to Oliver and grabs him around the middle. He prises her off, but you catch him smiling at her a moment later when he thinks that no one’s looking. You grin. This is how it’s supposed to be and you feel emotional because of it. Mycroft’s face flares into your mind, but you try and ignore it. It doesn’t matter what he’d said the other night. It doesn’t change a thing. Does it? 

 

Your happiness soon fades however when a pair of brown boots make their way into your vision. You swallow and stand up. A curvy woman with her thighs encased in ragged denim shorts, a white top with blue edging that has two pink cherries hanging down from a green stem at the bottom left corner and her frizzy brown hair scrunched up in a ponytail stands before you with her hands on her hips. She pops her pink chewing gum and looks at you disapprovingly. This is Sasha, Ed’s sister, and though she’s liked you in the past you can tell even more than from her phone calls and texts that this isn't the case any longer. “What you’ve done to my brother is well wrong,” she says. 

 

Deciding not to encourage her to speak properly like Mycroft no doubt would have you remark defensively, “It was a bad decision that I made a long time ago.”

 

“A long time ago? You decided every day not to tell him the truth”-

 

“It’s hardly a thing that you get out over your cornflakes”-

 

“You cheating on my brother in the pool wasn’t a long time ago though was it? You shacking up with the lover that you’ve been keeping all this time, that’s recent that is.”

 

You swallow. Samantha looks up at you with her bottom lip wobbling. You grip her hand reassuringly, before you look back up at Sasha. “Is Ed about?” you ask. 

 

“Inside,” she says, still eyeing you distastefully as you march past her, dragging Samantha with you. Oliver follows behind. 

 

“Your stuff’s at the bottom of the stairs,” Ed says, coming out from the kitchen that’s at the back of the house and down the hallway towards you as you enter.

 

“I want to talk to you,” you say, ignoring the three bin bags that are to your left.

 

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” Ed folds his arms. 

 

You frown at him for a moment, before you twist around to look at Oliver. Your hand catches against Samantha’s back as you do so. Your son’s looking past you at Ed with a disapproving calculating look upon his face. It takes you only a moment to work out that the expression he’s wearing reminds you of Mycroft. “Why don’t you check that there’s nothing left that you want to take with you in your room? Take your sister with you.” Oliver wisely just gives you a nod, before he follows your command. 

 

Ed returns to the kitchen, and, eager to get away from Sasha who you can feel breathing down your neck, you follow him. When you half-turn by the kitchen table to see that she’s followed you however you say, “I’d like a word with my husband alone.” She gives you a bit of a glare, before she goes down the hallway and outside. You look back at Ed. 

 

“I won’t be your husband for much longer,” Ed announces, leaning against the sink that’s to your left with one of his hands clutching onto the counter that’s to the side of him and the other half-toying with the handle of a chipped white cup that’s resting on the counter on the other side. You turn towards him. “I want a divorce.”

 

“Ed”-

 

 _“No,_ Oliver and you taking your stuff away is one thing, but it’s not enough. I know that now. I want a divorce.”

 

“Can’t we”-

 

“No, we can’t just talk about all this,” Ed says, before he seems to suddenly take you in more. “Is that what you truly thought would happen by you coming here today?” he asks incredulously. “You’d come here, we’d talk and then everything would just be fine again? You must be deluded. You've been lying to me for years. That’s not something that I can just”-

 

“The children though. Can’t we be civil to each other because of them?” you ask, knowing that it will take time to earn his trust again and to convince him of what the truth is. Ed opens his mouth. You take a desperate step towards him. “Oliver’s missed you, you know, and I'm sure Samantha has”-

 

“No,” Ed says, flinging his hand down and nearly usurping the cup that’s on the counter. It rattles, but doesn’t fall. Both of you just listen to it for a moment and watch it wobble back into place, before Ed goes on, “You’re right,” a little less sternly because of the interruption, “Samantha’s not okay at the moment, but she will be.” You open your mouth. “Oh, you’ll have access to her don’t worry, and I suppose that through that I’ll also see Oliver from time to time although he already looks more recognizable as that prick’s son than”-

 

“Mycroft’s been good to us. Don’t call him that,” you say, feeling surprised yourself at how fervent your voice sounds. 

 

“I bet he has,” Ed looks at you with both something regretful and venomous about his face. 

 

You try and swallow all your emotion back down. “I love you,” you gaze at him desperately. 

 

“You just think that you do,” Ed says without looking at you and you feel a pang at him saying something so similar to what Mycroft had the other night. Seeing that you don’t seem to get it Ed goes on, “We’re over F/N. It’s finished. Even if we ever become friends then it will only be for the sake of the children and what we once had will never happen again. You've hurt me too much.” He turns around to the sink and turns the tap on, so that he can begin to rinse the cup out. “Sasha’s already been telling me that I should go out with this woman that she knows. Apparently she’s trustworthy”-you feel stung-“I haven’t decided whether I will or not yet,” he says offhandedly, “But whatever I decide I do know that my future doesn’t lie with you.”

 

A little breath escapes you and you slump back against the table. The clouds are properly clearing in your mind now, moving away from the truth that you've been trying to hide from yourself and making you realise that getting back with Ed will be hopeless. Making you stop using other things as an excuse for why you shouldn't be living with Mycroft and see where you really should be. But though it feels good to properly know these things at last it doesn't half hurt. 

 

“Mum?” a timid voice says and you straighten at once and look to see that Oliver’s now standing in the entranceway with Samantha just behind him. “I’ve got all my things.” 

 

You look back at Ed. He’s finished rinsing the cup out and placed it off to the side to dry. The tap’s off, but still he just stands there, staring out of the window. You swallow; feeling like the world’s heaviest lump currently resides in your throat. “I hope you’ll be happy,” you get out regretfully and Ed gives you a grunt of acknowledgement. 

 

You load the car up, say a quick, but meaningful goodbye to Samantha who seems upset and confused that you’re going again so soon, before you fend off one more glare from Sasha who insists on smoking a cigarette and watching as Oliver and you tumble into the car. 

 

A little gurgle escapes you as the car moves off again and you look out of the window urgently, desperate to hide from Oliver how bad you’re feeling from going home. Only it’s not your home now and the more you think about it the more you feel stupid about the way you've been acting. Mycroft had been right all along and even Oliver had seemed to get to that point quicker than you. You feel like a failure as a mother, as a _human._ Oliver, seemingly sensing how you’re feeling, reaches across so that he can squeeze at your hand. You look at him. He smiles encouragingly at you and again he reminds you of Mycroft. “Thank you darling,” you say, swallowing again as he draws back. 

 

He looks away from you for a moment, before he looks back at you with a bit of a smile about his face as he says, “You know what Mum? Mycroft told me to look after you today.” He pauses and you release another gurgle, feeling emotional. “I think he really wants to take care of you and, I-I think he’d do a good job.”

 

You smile and let out a bit of a watery laugh. “You know Oliver I think you might be onto something there. When did you get so smart?” 

 

“I have good parents,” Oliver looks at you knowingly. 

 

 _“Oh,”_ you chuckle, before you wipe at your eyes. “Thank you sweetheart.” 

 

Oliver grins and looking pleased he glances out of the window again. 

 

*

 

You’re feeling emotional still from your visit to Ed and Samantha’s house, but like things are finally starting to click into place for you and look more hopeful by the time you return to your new home. Oliver gets out of the car first and quickly moves around, so that he can open the car door for you, which makes you laugh, albeit in a watery fashion. You let him help you out and then as you swing your hands in between you, you say, “We’re home Olls.”

 

Oliver grins at you and for once he doesn’t seem to mind you shortening his name. 

 

You let out a soft sigh as you step inside, slip off your coat and hang it up. “Mycroft?” you call. “We’re home.” You’d half been expecting, going from his behaviour this morning that he’d be in a position where he was ready to both greet and analyse you, and you feel suddenly that all you want is to have him wrap his arms around you as you stand up on your tiptoes and kiss him. Then you’ll tell him that you understand. You want all of those things so badly in fact that you call him again. “Mycroft?” No reply. You exchange a bit of a look with Oliver. “Let’s go and find him,” you say and your son’s face brightens at the thought of this quest. 

 

Before either of you can move however and begin this challenge you hear a shuddering gasping sound coming from the dining room. Your heart jumps in panic and your hand clamps down upon Oliver’s shoulder. The sound comes again. It’s all high-pitched and pained. It sounds like an injured animal. 

 

 _“Dad?”_ Oliver blurts out automatically. Your hand grips onto him even more, but he still manages to turn towards the direction of the dining room. “Dad? Dad?” 

 

“Oliver”- is all you manage, before Oliver breaks free from you. _“Oliver!”_ you hurry after him. 

 

You both skid to a stop at the entrance of the room when you come to see that Mycroft’s sitting at the end of the table just like he’d been that previous Thursday night. Only this time there’s no comforting cup of tea in sight. There’s just scattered papers all across the length of the table. A mobile phone is pinned to one of the closest ones to Mycroft. Whilst this time instead of Mycroft looking troubled you can’t even see his face. His head is buried in his arms and his body jerks as he sobs. His hair is all tousled as if he’s been running his hands through it. Your breath hitches. 

 

 _“Dad!”_ Oliver says again, rushing towards him and Mycroft lifts his head up to look at him in astonishment. His eyes are just pools of blue, his delicate, pale face is stained with tears and even the blue shirt that he’s wearing is a little damp from all his crying. He blinks at the boy and then blinks at you. “Dad! Dad!” Oliver says, joining him and carefully placing one of his hands on Mycroft’s shoulder and the other one on his cheek. He turns Mycroft’s face towards him. “We should never have left him,” Oliver looks back at you accusingly. 

 

Your lips part. 

 

“Oliver,” Mycroft says gravelly, his finger pressing lightly at a strand of the boy’s hair as he looks at him, before his eyes go to you. “F/N. Is it really you my dear?” He looks back at Oliver again. “And my son too?” Oliver pats at Mycroft’s hair. You take a step forwards. Mycroft’s gaze goes to you again. “I went to see Mummy this morning. I got a call not long after I came back. Mummy’s dead”-you let out a little breath-“Neither of you were here. I managed to convince myself that you were gone for good. That perhaps you’d never been there in the first place.” 

 

Your heart goes out to him and as your mouth opens you begin to move forwards, but before you can reach them Oliver hugs his father sideways and says, “It’ll be all right Dad.”

 

Mycroft pulls away from him, turns towards him properly and blinks. “You don’t have to call me that, not if you don’t want to or if you’re not ready,” he says. 

 

“I want to,” Oliver reassures him truthfully and the pair hug again. Mycroft places a hand on the boy’s back and holds him close.

 

You move to Mycroft’s other side and tangle your fingers experimentally through his hair. He draws back from his son and turns to look at you. “I understand. You were right,” you tell him, before you move in to kiss him. 

 

Mycroft’s finger goes to your lips. Your eyes widen. “If you’re just saying that because of what’s happened then please, _don’t.”_

 

You shake your head and he lets go of you. “I'm not. I love you.” Mycroft still looks at you a little disbelievingly. “Mycroft you don’t have to be alone any more. In fact I never want you to be alone again. Let us help you like you’ve tried to help us all these years.”

 

Mycroft’s face clears and then you’re moving in and cupping at his cheeks and kissing him once, twice and both of your eyes are closing and Mycroft’s hand is weaving through your hair and going to the back of your head to pull you closer and _this_ is how it’s meant to be. 

 

Oliver, still too embarrassed by his tender years, looks away, but lets you both get on with it nonetheless.

 

Sensing what his son’s doing Mycroft pulls back from you with a bit of a watery smile upon his face. You smile at him gently and wipe his tears away. “Do you know what my mother said?” Mycroft asks as he looks up at you. You shake your head. “She said that she’d known about Oliver and you all along.” Your breath hitches. “Said that she’d trusted that I’d see sense eventually, which was why she hadn’t said anything and that it had been a relief for her to at last be able to say all the things that she’d wanted to over the years and to meet the pair of you.” He lets out a little gurgle and you rub at his shoulder. “She said that at least her illness had done some good.” 

 

You hug him again and as you draw back and Mycroft pulls Oliver close to his side once more and wraps an arm around your waist you know that he knows that despite the terrible news he’s had that day everything will be all right now.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and you step into the future.

**Oliver’s Thirteenth Birthday**

 

“Hey Olls,” you smile from where you’re putting the last strawberries around the edge of your son’s chocolate and cream cake on the counter in the kitchen as the recipient himself makes his way past you, sipping on a cup of lemon and lime juice through a straw. It may be autumn, but the weather’s been unusually mild lately and you’ve decided to take the celebrations outside. 

 

Oliver, even taller and more like his father now, shakes his head and rolls his eyes at you calling him that, before he steps through the sliding doors and moves outside. 

 

Your husband joins you in the next moment, wearing a navy suit that you find simply delicious on him, a white shirt and black shoes that have been polished to perfection. He eyes the cake approvingly and comes to put an arm around your waist and kiss you on the cheek. You hum in a satisfied fashion and wriggle pleasurably against him. When Mycroft’s hand darts towards the cake however you slap it down and utter, _“No,”_ firmly. 

 

“But my dear,” Mycroft protests, his nose nudging at your neck and his hot breath drifting against it teasingly, “It should probably be tested.”

 

“For poison?” you raise your eyebrows at him. 

 

“Mmmhmm,” Mycroft nips at your neck a couple of times. 

 

You abandon the strawberries that you’ve got in a clear bowl upon the counter and twist around to face him. You kiss him deeply; unaware of what his sneaky hands are up to, before you pull away from him again. “Do you remember when you actually convinced me that all of your food was tested for poison when we first met and said that your food actually tasted better as a result of it because if anything was slightly off or not right then by testing it, it could be identified, corrected and then tested again, before you had any of it?” A smile toys about Mycroft’s face. “Then you let me try a bit of your food one day and I actually convinced myself that it _did_ in fact taste better and you couldn't keep a straight face?” You let out a soft breath. “You were naughty even then. You still are,” you add when Mycroft takes the strawberry that he’d managed to rescue from the bowl when you’d been kissing out from where he’s been hiding it behind your back. He sucks on it for a moment, before he pops it into his mouth. 

 

“But you still love me?” Mycroft checks once he’s swallowed it. 

 

“Of course,” you say as Mycroft passes you a strawberry. You begin to suck at it. “Mr. Holmes,” you say, before you put the strawberry into your mouth and chew on it consideringly, “I love you very much.”

 

“Mrs. Holmes that was exactly the answer that I was hoping for,” Mycroft’s eyes gleam with a playful desire and he lifts you up onto the counter, so that you’re sitting in between the cake and the bowl of strawberries. He rubs his hands against the side of the mid-length navy dress that you’re wearing, before he kisses you slowly at first and then more deeply. You both make sounds of pleasure as you taste the strawberries on one another. Your hands reach to mess with his hair and you wrap your legs around your husband’s back. He pushes closer. 

 

You’re both too intoxicated by each other though to instantly react when you hear the sound of thudding footsteps. A moment later you hear a disgusted voice saying, _“Urgh!_ Mum and Dad no, do you have to do that on my birthday?” You pull away from Mycroft, lowering your legs, to see that your son’s standing by the sliding glass doors. “They’re kissing again! That’s what the hold up is!” he calls over his shoulder. 

 

 _“Oliver,”_ you growl, adjusting your dress in embarrassment, whilst Mycroft looks smug. 

 

Oliver though looks unimpressed. “Apparently you said that the cake would be out there five minutes ago, and you better hurry up because it’s supposed to rain this afternoon,” he tells you. He looks at Mycroft with a smile, “I can feel the moisture that’s in the air.” Mycroft nods approvingly. 

 

You however huff out a breath at being told what to do by your now teenage son, before you watch as with a smug smile to match the one that his father had worn earlier he goes back outside again. 

 

Mycroft makes to kiss you and carry on where you’d left off, but you bat him on the arm. “No distracting me.” You slip off the counter and think about what you’ve just said. _“Again.”_

 

Mycroft smirks and you share a mischievous look. 

 

You shake your head at the knowing expression that’s in his eyes and hurriedly finish decorating the cake, before you pick it up carefully on its light brown tray. Mycroft places a hand on your back and helps guide you across to the door. He remains close to you as you both step outside into the garden. Dash, your Cavalier King Charles spaniel and named after Queen Victoria's own, darts across from where he's been observing the children and threatens to get underneath your feet. For all his want to get you to hurry Oliver is now flying his kite with Samantha and the latest addition to your family-your three-year-old daughter Robin who has Mycroft’s auburn hair-looking on. At a long wooden table that’s directly in front of you are Sherlock, Edwin, Ed-you’re friends for the sake of the children-Ed’s new wife Roxanne, who’s an intelligent woman with blonde flyaway hair and Ed’s new daughter with her Mo. Despite the dangerous task you’ve got of transporting the cake you just stop and smile at everyone for a moment. 

 

 _“What?”_ Mycroft asks, his mouth close to your ear. 

 

You turn your head to look at him and he draws back a little. “Everything’s perfect,” you smile, “It’s just like I would have wanted it to be after everything that’s happened.” Mycroft smiles at you in relief, feeling happy to hear such words, but then something else comes over his face. A hope. A _dream. “What?”_ it’s your turn to ask. 

 

“Well,” Mycroft murmurs, moving to stand half behind you now and placing his hands upon your waist, “Oliver does seem to have taken rather well to little Robin. I know that you were worried about him feeling left out or jealous, but that doesn’t seem to have occurred at all.” 

 

Getting his meaning you twist your head around to look up at him and ask, “You want another one?” You quirk an eyebrow up at him. 

 

That dreamy thoughtful look comes over his face again as his eyes drift to Oliver. “Him being thirteen already and him living here in general has made me realize even more just how much I _did_ miss out on, whilst he was growing up,” he looks back at you just as your lip begins to twitch upward. “I’ve heard of certain… _conditions,_ that can help make the likelihood of a boy greater, and”-he considers with a tilt of his head-“Whilst we’ve still got our youth too it would make sense to…” he trails off and raises his eyebrows suggestively at you. 

 

You nudge at him and the cake slides perilously close to the edge of the tray. Mycroft quickly helps you to straighten it. “Don’t remind me of those women in the toilets. I’ve never gotten over them,” you tell him. 

 

“I know,” Mycroft replies with a small amused smile at the memory, before he asks you more anxiously, “What do you think of my suggestion then?”

 

“I _think,”_ you say, “That it sounds a wonderful and intriguing one and that we might have to have a test run of those conditions tonight, but for now”- you break off, nodding at the table where everyone’s now waiting for you at, before you go towards it with a smile. 

 

Mycroft follows after you eagerly.


End file.
